One Simple Meeting
By Draco

Word looked at the monitors that hanged above him in his Citadel.  For eight long years the Dragon-Human War raged onward, but his army was loosing to the Dragon Booster and the three other boosters: the Power Booster, the Fire Booster, and the Energy Booster.  He gritted his teeth when an image of the Dragon Booster appeared on his screens.    
“I know who you are, Dragon Booster…” he said, lost in his rage.  “I should have noticed all along… but I haven’t.  You seem much too clever.”  Moordryd was in the room with him, watching his father be filled with hatred of one of his new allies.     
He knew that Artha was the Dragon Booster, but he didn’t dare tell his father because he promised to keep each other’s secrets safe… even though Word suspected it.  Moordryd was the Shadow Booster who originally loathed the Dragon Booster as much as his father… but all seemed to change when they found out their identities.  But his father, however, didn’t know that yet.  He wished he could tell him the truth, but he is too afraid about his father’s reaction.  But he had to keep it a secret, no matter what.
Moordryd and Artha are now twenty-four, and for awhile now they have each fought the war against each other.  Moordryd was forced to.  He was even more scared of his father’s reaction when he found out he was friends with the Dragon Booster… or known as Artha Penn.  Word was around sixty-eight, but still as evil and untrustworthy as he was eight years ago.  He still wanted to get rid of the Dragon Booster and along with his dragon, but he only got this far.
“Moordryd, I have a plan,” Word said to his son who was still lost in thought.  “And as always you are apart of it…”
Moordryd couldn’t argue.  “What would you like me to do, father?”  Word grinned as he always did when he thought a certain plan --that was so ingenious-- would work.
“That Dragon Booster has gotten in my way for the last time… and losing this war is far too risky.  I am going to have to do it the old fashion way…”
“Old fashion way?” said Moordryd, mimicking his father’s words, “what old fashion way?”
“…Through death…” Word replied.  Moordryd gulped.  This plan was one of the most horrifying out of his father’s other plans for world domination in his option.  He couldn’t agree to this… not one bit.  Fighting and losing in a war is one thing, but killing the leader of your enemy?  It didn’t sound fair.  But there were only a few rules in war: Fight, Die, Win or Lose.  It didn’t say anything about killing the leader of the enemy’s army.  “If Dragon Booster is out of the way, the army he once lead will be forced to join my army… and the turning point of this war will begin.”
Moordryd didn’t care about his father’s anger anymore.  “Father… isn’t this being a little… um… harsh… or a little unfair?”  Word looked at his son.  “Doesn’t killing the enemy sound kind of… gory?”
“Listen to me, my son,” said Word, more seriously.  “I cannot afford to lose this war, and I intend to win with any way possible.  Do you understand?”  Moordryd nodded.  “Good… now get that blade out of the drawer for me, will you…?”  Moordryd gulped but continued to just nod in reply.  He really didn’t have much to say.  “Calm the war down and tell them that I have surrendered.  I then will use the opportunity to invite the Dragon Booster over for a nice drink…”  He paused in case Moordryd would question.  When he didn’t, he continued.  “… And I will try my best to get him to have a large dosage of alcohol.  When he is dazed from it, it will be your cue to do the rest…”

After Moordryd announced what he was forced to announce, Artha took the amulet off his gauntlet because he knew something was going on, but why would Word surrender at this point in time?  Artha had an idea that Word was up to something, but what if he wasn’t?  What if he actually gave up?  He was losing the war anyway… and he probably knew his identity as well…
Artha decided to go over to Word’s Citadel, just so he can figure out if he was really surrendering.  Surprisingly, he was greeted warmly by Word.  “Welcome, Artha Penn,” he said calmly.  Artha lifted his eyebrow.  “Please, sit down.”  Artha sat down in a chair on the other side of the table where Word was sitting.  
“What do you want, Word?” Artha asked.
“I just wanted to chat…” Word said innocently.
“Chat, huh?” Artha said, concerned.  “…About what?”
“Well, since I am losing this war anyway and by the fact that there is absolutely no chance I will win, I might as well throw in the towel.  I think we should start over, be friends…”  This didn’t sound like the Word Artha knew.  “Care for a Champaign?”  
“Uh… sure…” Artha sounded unsure.  Word filled his glass and one for himself and passed it down.  Artha took a few sips and set it down on the table.
“Look, Artha,” Word continued.  “I know we have gotten off on the wrong foot lately since all of this ever began, but should we start over?  What do you think?  Hmm…?”
Artha took another few sips of his Champaign that left the wine glass half empty.  “Well… that would be great...” he replied.  
“It would, now wouldn’t it?” Word continued to butter him up.  “I’m tired of all of this fighting.  A man my age shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of thing, you know?  A person your age, however, probably would win a war such as this anyway.”
“…Really?” Artha said, not convinced.  “Well, I am winning this war…”  
“Indeed you are…” Word said, trying to sound pleased with the boy.  “You certainly are quite a leader for someone who is only twenty or so…”
“Twenty-four,” Artha corrected.  Artha took another few sips of his Champaign and suddenly burped.  “Excuse me… I really don’t drink much…”
“That’s alright; we all go through that…” Word said, filling Artha’s glass up again.  
“But don’t get me wrong,” said Artha.  “This is really good Champaign.”
“It is,” said Word.  “There are plenty of good ones.  Ever tried any?”
“Well I haven’t really drunk much since I was able to,” said Artha.  “But I did have a few drinks before.”  Word kept on listening to Artha while he kept in mind that his plan was working smoothly, even though Artha was not in the tipsy state yet.  
Artha did eventually drink the rest of his second glass.  Word filled it up the moment he finished, making Artha a bit aware of his behavior.  Still, he was fooled into thinking that maybe Word was surrendering to the war… that he won.
“So, are we okay so far?” Word asked.
“Hmm?” Artha said.  The alcohol seemed to already be affecting his attention span.  “I’m sorry… the Champaign must be getting to me a little bit…”  He chuckled at his remark.
“It’s understandable,” Word said, quite pleased.  “When we don’t drink in a month or so and finally have a glass, we tend to get a bit dazed after one drink or two.”  
“What was your question?” Artha said, taking a sip at his Champaign.  
“Are we doing alright for just being friends for just a few minutes or so?” Word said.
“I think we are,” said Artha, feeling a bit comfortable.
“Well that’s good!” said Word.  “How is that Champaign doing for you?”
“It’s delicious, thank you,” Artha said.  He took another sip.  “I’m a little jumbled up, but I’m fine.”  Word’s talk about the Champaign was starting to make Artha want to drink it.  More recently was he taking sips at his Champaign.  Word noticed this.  
“I can’t even remember when I drank my first Champaign… I think the first one I drank was when I went to some bar in Down City…”  Word said, pretending to be in deep thought.  Artha once again decided to drink some more of his Champaign.  The glass was nearly empty, and while Word continued to pretend to be in deep thought he refilled Artha’s glass.  Artha once again drank some of it, making Word more and more pleased.

Sooner or later as the conversation continued, Artha finished his second to third drink of Champaign.  Artha’s mind was getting a little messy, occasionally seeing blurs in his vision.  Word noticed his dazed state, his plan nearly coming in full circle.  “More Champaign?” he questioned.  
“Oh… no thank you,” Artha said, “I don’t think I should.  I’m a little topsy turvy right now…”  Word was a little surprised when Artha refused.  Artha was already getting a bit tipsy and he wanted him to be almost completely unaware of his surroundings so that Moordryd can do his role in the plan.  Right now, Artha wasn’t in the state he wanted.  He needed to force him to drink more now.  He tried being patient.
“Well, it was only three glasses… and you can still manage your common sense.  Why not have more?  Push your luck…”
“I don’t know…” Artha said.  “I really don’t think I should… but if I’m doing it because of your surrender, then I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”  Word was pleased, pouring more of the Champaign into his glass.  Artha drank happily, clearly unaware of the consumption of the alcohol.  
Sooner or later, Artha finished his fourth glass, and it became easier and easier for Word to convince Artha to drink more giving that fact that Artha was demanding it now.  “Man, that’s tasty stuff!” Artha cried excitedly.  He laughed and giggled away as if there wasn’t a care in the world.  “More please!”  Word was more than happy to do so.  Artha immediately drank his sixth glass down.  Now he was a target in Word’s plan.  Artha was falling victim to the alcohol.  He sighed when he finished his drink… again.  “Man, I have to do this more often!” he said giddily, coolly putting his feet on the table.  “I wonder how a drink can taste good… have you ever wondered that?  Where is Champaign made from anyway?  Does it have apples in it?”  Artha giddily asked random questions, completely delirious.  Word was ready to die laughing from Artha’s behavior and Artha didn’t even notice himself.
“Hey, why is your beard black when your hair is white?  I don’t get that…” Artha giggled.  “Did you, like, dye it?”  While Artha stupidly began to ask questions again, Word poured the last big of Champaign in his glass.  “I mean, did all guys back in your day have beards like that?  What’s the deal?  I don’t see a lot of people have different colored hair on their face!”  Artha drank the refilled glass.  “I wonder if I’m going to get a different colored beard when I’m old… maybe a blue one…”  Word thought it was time, clearly annoyed with Artha now.  He did a hand motion for Moordryd to come out of hiding and while he walked over to the table, he took out a sharp blade.  Artha just kept yapping.  “What’s next, huh?  Do those teenagers get different colored beards or mustaches?  Maybe we all have different colored beards… have you ever wondered that?”  Moordryd held the blade over his head, ready to strike.  
Suddenly, a disrupter mine suddenly went off out of nowhere, making both adults fall out of their chairs.  When Word got up from the blast, he found Artha’s chair down on the ground but there was no sign of him or his son.  
Moordryd got Beau and Artha out of the Citadel as fast as he could.  Artha had to ride with Moordryd because of his drunken state.  Beau ran beside them, rolling his eyes at his rider.  Moordryd stopped by a nearby alley and hide before his father’s wraith dragons could find him.  “Why did table go KABOOM?” Artha asked, still asking the stupidest questions.
“It was me, Penn,” Moordryd replied, getting himself and Artha off his saddle.  
“You went KABOOM?” Artha said.
“No, I set off the disrupter mine so I can get you out of here!  My Dad is going to kill me when he eventually finds out, but I didn’t want you to get stabbed.”  
“How can you stab me with that butter knife thingy?” Artha asked.
“It is not a butter knife.”
“Maybe it is, but it’s just a lot sharper…”
“UGH,” Moordryd complained.  “Penn, I don’t have time for this!”
“Hey Moordryd, are you going to get a different colored beard when you’re old?”
“What?  NO!” Moordryd said.  “What the heck are you talking about?”  
“I dunno what are you talkin’ about?” Artha said giddily.  
Moordryd slapped his face.  “Artha, how much did you drink?”
“Uh…” Artha began to think.  “Six… seven… six… eleventy six… eight…”  Artha counted on his fingers.
“Oh god, I am never going to get an answer from him!” Moordryd said to himself.  He asked Artha the same question again.  “Artha, how much did you drink?!”
“Um… seven… six… forty-eleven…”
“UGH!” Moordryd said.  “God how did you get this smashed?”
“Smashed?  I got smashed?  When?  How?” Artha said.  Moordryd was getting a little annoyed.  
“C’mon Penn, we’re going to your father,” Moordryd said.  
“Where’s that?” Artha asked.
“Penn Stables, remember?”
“Um…uh… no…”  Moordryd sighed.  He ran out of the alley and went to Penn Stables as fast as he could to see Connor, Kitt, Parm and Lance waiting patiently for Artha to return.
“Moordryd?  What’s he doing here?” Parm asked.
“Mind if I stop by to drop off someone?” Moordryd said.  Moordryd was going to get off, when he felt Artha grabbing onto him from around his waist.  “Um, Penn… what are you DOING?”
“You’re nice and warm…” Artha said.  Everyone stared at the young Penn with complete shock.  
“Get off me!” Moordryd pushed Artha away and helped get him down from his saddle.  “He’s a bit… um…”
“What in God’s name did you do to him?” Kitt asked.
“I didn’t do a damn thing, Wonn!” Moordryd snapped.  “My father was going to convince Artha to be friends or something stupid like that, and he was getting Artha to drink so I could… kill… him…”  
“Well, if you were going to kill him then why are you here dropping him off for us?” Lance asked.
“Because,” Moordryd admitted.  “I didn’t like the idea that Artha was going to get stabbed.  So when I was pretending that I was going to stab him, a disrupter mine went off --that I put under the table they were sitting at-- and got Artha out before my father noticed.”
“So you are good after all…” Lance said.  “I knew it!”
“Don’t judge too soon… I can still be dangerous,” Moordryd joked.  “Now, do you want the Stable Brat or what because I don’t know what to do with him?”  
“Yes, and thank you, Moordryd,” Connor said.  “Bring him over.  How bad is he?”
“Um… pretty bad!” Moordryd said.  “Penn get over here!”  Artha walked awkwardly over to Moordryd.
“Hey, you have a beard, too!” Artha blurted.  “But you don’t have a different colored beard like your hair… but then again you don’t have hair…”  Everyone looked at him, bewildered.  
“I’d better get him in bed…” Connor laughed.  “How much did he drink, or was forced to drink?”
“I have no idea.  Whenever I ask him, his head is all jumbled up!”
“Artha, son, how much did you drink at Word’s Citadel?” Connor asked.
“You’re not going to get results; I’ll tell you that,” Moordryd warned.
“Um…” Artha thought.  “Four… four seven… six…”
“What did I tell ya?” Moordryd said.
“We’d better get him in bed and some water,” Parm said.  “Kitt, help me get Artha inside.”  Connor let Kitt and Parm get Artha to bed.
“Hey, you have a beard too!” Artha said to Parm.  “But yours doesn’t have different colored hair… How come I see a lot of people that have beards--?”  
“Okay then…” Parm interrupted.  
Connor thanked Moordryd for his deed.  “You are welcome,” Moordryd said.  “I have to go before my father suspects I did something.  He’s probably going to kill me…”  He got back on Desepshun and rode off.  Connor smiled as the young Paynn ride off.  For once in his life, he was proud of what he’d done.