Paper Planes

We are all made of paper.
We can rip and we can tear and we can fall apart.
Our edges can hurt others with the slightest touch.
 And when we crumple, we're never quite the same again.
This is Stardust's entry for Wings of Writing #2. The prompts were Revelry, Builders, Burn.
POSSIBLE MATURE CONTENT WARNING: AVOID IF YOU HAVE A TRIGGER OF .
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|-|i.=
When Siri looks at beggars, it is not pity or compassion that fizzes in their chest, but annoyance.
Normal dragons work hard to get to where they are, putting in hours and hours of work, while beggars sprawl on the sides of the streets, doing nothing but pleading for food and money. 
Siri knows what it’s like to be poor. They know that nothing but hard work can pull someone out of that void. And they also know that beggars are wasting away their lives under the scorching sun of the Sky Kingdom, doing nothing but groveling when they should be going to their jobs and helping the economy instead.
They delicately pick their way past an old SkyWing wrapped in rags, turning up their snout at the smell radiating off him. Siri narrows their eyes at the beggar for a moment, and his face lights up with hope.
Then Siri strides past, and the beggar is swallowed by the evening shadows.
Even from a hundred feet away, Siri can hear the sounds of the party loud and clear: bass thumping through the ground, glasses filled with beverages clinking together merrily, dragons laughing, dragons chattering, dragons being bold. An involuntary shudder rattles their spikes, but they forge on toward the scene, trying to push down the wave of nervousness. Words are hard. Feelings are confusing. Still, they continue moving toward the revelry. Hopefully Cenote will be there, since he’s really the one dragon they can talk to.
Siri places their talon on the solid wooden door, feeling it pulse to the beat of the deafening music. And then they swing it open, and they step inside.
The energy pulses through the hybrid like a jolt of white-hot electricity, making them flinch backwards. Everywhere Siri looks, dragons are dancing to the music rocking the room. Dizziness swirls in their mind, making them feel utterly overwhelmed.
Don’t you worry, sweetie, I ain’t going nowhere, the radio croons, and almost reflexively, Siri mutters, “The correct grammar is ‘I’m not going anywhere’.”
A heavyset cerulean SeaWing materializes out of the din, wearing a nervous expression with a cup of sparkling water in his talon. “You made it,” he says hopefully to Siri. “Do you wanna go play a game?”
Siri rolls their eyes, not even noticing the smile melting off Cenote’s face in disappointment. “It’s 'want to', not 'wanna', and no, I do not want to play a game. I would prefer to stand over here and observe the guests’...” They wrinkle their snout for a moment, searching for the correct word. “...antics.”
Cenote looks crestfallen, but vanishes into the crowd again, and Siri leans against the wall cautiously. They survey the rowdy dragons with analytical eyes, trying to ignore the twinge of loneliness in their stomach. They don’t need friends. Friends are for dragons who aren’t independent enough to deal with their own problems. And besides… friends are hard.
Siri still finds their overactive mind treading that path, though. What if they could make friends with the touch of a button? Replace the confusing world of emotions with straightforward code and logic? Their brain whirls in a hurricane of thoughts. Yes, that was it, a machine that could broadcast thoughts. To tell others what you were thinking… to bring to light the things that you couldn’t say out loud… Life would be so much more convenient with this. Everything black and white, simple and clear.
And perhaps, eventually, they could finally make some friends.
“I’ve got to go,” Siri tells a surprised Cenote, and they whirl around and hurry home. To their workshop.
word count: 600
|-|ii.=
Siri sweeps through the streets, not even bothering to look at the beggars this time, because they’ve been struck with a comet of an idea and they have to get home before everything is lost to the blaze of excitement. Well, home meaning a dingy little workshop that’s practically heaven to them.
They burst through the door of their house and race downstairs into the dusty basement, filled with wires and spare parts, inhaling the wonderful smell of oil-metal-machinery. Down here, there are no wishy-washy feelings to cloud Siri’s judgement. Down here, everything makes sense.
To Siri, conversation is gray space. Every remark shaded light silver or shadowy gray or something in between. There’s no way to track the possibilities of what could happen and how to prepare for them and plan them to predict the future. But when it comes to engineering, they know exactly what to do all of the time. There’s only right and wrong. Nothing else. This part goes here, that wire goes there. If they make a mistake, nothing happens. If they do it right… something does.
They fling themselves into a chair and begin sketching furiously on a faded scrap of paper, planning out their newest invention. Scattered around the table are blueprints for other failed designs, a mind-reading device and an emotion-sensing machine among the mix. Their lines are perfectly straight, perfectly dark against the parchment-white surface. 
Slowly, their idea begins to take shape, brought to life on a two-dimensional canvas: a bowl-shaped contraption, dimensions shaped to fit neatly over the average dragon’s head. At the top, a small projector is nestled in a swirl of wires, designed to broadcast whatever the wearer is thinking about into the air.
After a few minutes of heated drawing, Siri sits back and lets the breath they didn’t know they were holding whoosh out of their mouth. They examine the plan for a moment, making mental notes of the supplies they’ll need. A quick glance around their workshop tells them that they’re lacking many of the parts they need, which means they’ll have to go to a store to buy them, which means… they’ll have to talk to someone.
At this thought, they have to physically shake themself out of their stupor. Stupid, stupid, stupid, afraid of social interaction like it was going to hurt them. All it was was exchanging a few words. It’s not their fault that other dragons get offended whenever they lapsed into grammar lectures or started rambling about science. It’s just how they cope. It’s the only way they could stay completely sane through an interaction. Small talk is agonizingly slow for them.
The world would be so much better if this contraption was part of it, this thing that put ideas dragons could barely express into words. Friendships would be easier, relationships would be straightforward, ideas could spring into existence right from the moment when they first lit up. Siri could already see it: a world based on logic and science, where everybody had one of these thought machines.
For some inexplicable reason, though, something has seemed to settle in their stomach, something very hard and heavy dragging their spirits down. Every inch of Siri’s brain tells them this is a wonderful idea, this will improve Pyrrhia by a landslide. But their core… something feels off. Something feels like this idea will, instead of succeeding like they barely hope for desperately, break them completely.
“This will make everything easier,” they declare to the empty room, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in their gut that’s just waiting for their failure.
word count: 600
|-|iii.=
three months later
Siri shifts their invention clumsily under one wing so they can knock on Cenote’s door with the other. The bowl-shaped device is clunky and looks a little odd, but Siri is almost completely sure it functions. Almost.
The door to Cenote’s small house opens slowly, and a blue snout covered with whorling glowstripes emerges. “Oh. Hello,” he tells Siri, a note of uncertainty evident in his voice. “Why are you-” But he never finishes his sentence, because Siri barges past his sky-colored wings and inside the hallway.
“I finished it,” they say crisply, bustling into the cramped space. Bookshelves line the walls, stacked right up to the ceiling with fancy scientific journals Cenote has penned on the properties of coral or turtles or something else insignificant.
Siri pivots to face Cenote, who’s still wearing that earnestly confused expression, and jams the thought machine onto their head, wincing slightly at the weight. “Remember? My thought machine?” they press, waiting for the gleam of understanding to flare in Cenote’s eyes. When it does, it’s slow and dim, not the spark they had been hoping for.
“You want to try it?” he asks through a yawn. Siri nods impatiently and pokes the “ON” button, feeling the gears whir to life. An odd burst of electricity pulses through their head, as if the thought machine is drawing out the energy left in their brain to power itself.
I hope it’s working is the first thought that flashes through their mind. Cenote lets out a huge gasp and Siri snaps to attention. They can’t resist the massive smile that explodes onto their face, filling them with brightness and excitement and something that feels a lot like… happiness.
“Wow,” Cenote breathes, awe evident on his wide face as he fixates his gaze on the words hovering just above Siri’s head. “I never thought…” He lets his sentence linger in the air, and Siri can’t help the caustic thoughts that strike their brain again, bright as a lightning bolt. Did he never believe in me? Did he think I couldn’t pull this off?
Cenote’s expression morphs into something like annoyance - or hurt. “I did believe in you,” he protests.
Before Siri can stop it, their thoughts are emblazoned on the air, floating for their whole world to see.
A real friend wouldn’t have to tell me that.
Siri thought they had seen storms before, all thunder and wind and crashing sheets of water, but those are nothing, nothing, compared to Cenote’s expression. He pulls himself up to his full, towering height.
“Friend?” he asks, his voice quiet and dangerous, a massive deviation from the normally-gentle dragon. “You want to be my friend? You could have fooled me.”
He starts to pace. Siri can’t help but shrink back. “All you do is assume the worst of me,” he says, gaze fixated on his scrolls. “I try to help you. I try to get close to you. Then you let me down. Maybe not directly. But you walk away. You never make an effort. All you care about is-” He punctuates each word with a lash of his tail. “your - stupid - numbers.”
He finally looks at Siri, his gaze soft, furious. “You built this, but all you do is break me.”
“Go. Away,” he whispers, angrier than Siri has ever seen him, has ever seen anybody. With a clumsy shove of his flapping wings, he pushes Siri outside and slams the door. They stand there, wide-eyed, the device that just ruined their only relationship sitting in their outstretched talons.
Rain begins to fall.
In a haze, Siri walks home.
word count: 600
|-|iv.=
Siri only moved to this city recently.
They still remember the day they arrived, bright and sunny and full of the joy Siri didn’t feel. Cardboard boxes weighed them down, filled with the things Siri had brought with them. The burden was heavy, and the weather was hot, and they were just not enjoying the trek to their new house in general.
Every time they thought about their parents, sharp, biting flames of pain licked at their heart, making it impossible to walk or speak or even breathe. After years of scrounging up the courage they’d needed, they came out to their parents. They were not a “she,” Siri explained, or even a “he.” It was “they” from now on, to them and to everyone else. 
Except for their parents, who essentially denied their existence by claiming non-binary dragons didn’t exist. There were males and females, made to reproduce, and nothing in between.
Their mother and father told them they couldn’t live in their house anymore until they got themselves together. So, now they were here.
They hauled themselves through the city’s maze of streets, searching fruitlessly for the residence they had never seen before, having immediately bought the cheapest thing the realtor mentioned. Finally, they collapsed in the shade of a lonely tree that was limply straggling its way toward the sky, boxes scattered haphazardly next to them. They didn’t know where to go. They didn’t know what to do.
Until a sweet-looking SeaWing popped out of nowhere and offered to help.
Initially, Siri bristled at his offer. They might be built like a girl, but that didn’t mean they were weak! They didn’t need anyone’s help!
But for the rest of the afternoon, Cenote tagged along with them like a helpful puppy and lugged Siri’s baggage along easily on his back, helping them find their house, showing them the busiest hotspots, taking them on a grand tour of the labyrinthine grocery store. 
He chattered and smiled and told them jokes nonstop.
It was strangely pleasant, to be strolling through the streets with another dragon like Siri often observed their family doing.
And now that they’re at home, sitting blankly in their workshop with the thought machine in front of them, they realize just how much they messed up.
Scratch that. The phrase “messed up” wasn’t strong enough. Siri had completely broken the two of them. Crumpled the trust like a piece of paper.
They’re looking back now, and they realize just how delicate their friendship had been. Had been, in the past tense. How sharp Siri had been to Cenote, and how well-intentioned the SeaWing scientist was. It was so difficult to understand him, him and his scrolls filled with words-not-numbers. Difficult to understand anybody, really.
Honestly, outside of their workshop, they fumble nearly everything. Gears and mechanics pale in comparison to feelings, emotions, conversations tossed around quickly, carelessly. Dragons pass Siri their trust, and they always fail to make a catch, dropping it, watching it shatter at their feet.
Perhaps Siri isn’t the only one who’s a builder. Other dragons are too. Friendships rise from where there was only a pair of strangers before. Love is a house of cards, standing stubbornly against all odds. The only thing numbers and facts fall short of describing.
Their world is made of paper, and all Siri does is poke holes in it. Everything rips and tears and falls apart, and sometimes things are too torn to be put back together.
But sometimes they’re not.
Siri’s gaze lands on their thought machine, and they realize what they have to do.
word count: 600
|-|v.=
Siri slips through the crowd on the street completely undetected, completely unremarkable. They often think that they have a story to tell, but nobody else bothers to notice. Today, though, they wonder if that’s because everyone else has stories too.
They turn right and paces down a smaller path, coming to a stop in front of Cenote’s house. Take a breath. Step forward. Knock.
It takes much longer for Cenote to come to the door than he did last night, but he does, his eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” he growls.
Siri hesitates. They knew this part would be the hardest by far, but they weren’t prepared for the air to suddenly seize up in their lungs. “To say sorry.”
Cenote’s tail twitches, his expression inscrutable.
“I burned it,” Siri blurts. “The thought machine. I did some thinking, and I realized… it did more harm than good. I set it on fire and watched it fall apart.”
Silence falls again, as heavy and smothering as a wool blanket.
They sigh and touch their talon to their temple for a moment, regrouping. “Look, I’m really sorry. About everything. I’ve never really learned how to be a… a friend, and I didn’t treat you well. I was selfish, and rude, and…”
“An idiot,” Cenote offers. “A jerk.”
“I suppose,” Siri acknowledges, and continues. “If you’re alright with it, I really would like to try and be friends again. We can start over. I swear… well, I can’t say that I won’t ever make mistakes. But I will try my best.”
Cenote’s eyes flash with some deep-seated emotion that Siri can’t interpret. He raises his huge, billowing wings, and for one wild moment, Siri thinks the much-larger SeaWing is about to suffocate them.
Then an odd sob bursts from his mouth and he enfolds Siri in a hug.
Physical contact is generally avoided by Siri at all costs, but here right now, their head resting peacefully on Cenote’s broad shoulder, the sunlight on their back, it feels strangely pleasant. Cenote radiates his own brand of calming comfort that feels impossible to replicate with machines, no matter how hard they could try.
Everyone is so delicate, Siri wonders. Like paper, malleable and wrinkle-able and easy to poke holes in. Machines are so much easier to understand than other dragons.
But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s good that there’s a million shades of black and white and the gray in between.
So dragons can choose their own color, and come together to create something beautiful.
Finally, Cenote unfurls his wings, and Siri steps back. “We can go to the park,” he says abruptly, uncertainty and joy warring on his face. “To… uh… properly hang out.”
Siri used to refuse those invitations, looking down at their talons and shaking their head. But now, they lock onto the spark in Cenote’s eyes and say, “Sure.”
* * *
They’re on their way home, a bounce in their step for the first time ever, when they see the homeless SkyWing. Her orange scales are dull, and she’s struggling under the weight of a heavy-looking tattered bag, reminding Siri of themself so long ago.
Hope kindles in the beggar’s eyes when she spots Siri’s pouch, jangling with coins. It is… an oddly nice feeling, to make someone look like that. Like the sun had just come out from behind a cloud and lit up the world with its honeyed gold. Like they had just mended a friendship they didn’t even know they had had in the first place.
Siri holds out a talon. “Do you need any help with that?”
word count: 601
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<poll>
what would you rate this story, 1 being "a hot mess" and 5 being "godly?" (thank you for your input!)
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<poll>
what could I improve on?
description of setting
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Category:Fanfictions
Category:Fanfictions (Semi-Canon)
Category:Fanfictions (Incomplete)
Category:Genre (Short Story)
Category:Content (Stardust the IceWing-RainWing)