Chapter 7 — Dragon
And thus begins Chapter Seven.
Now, children.
Next exhibit.
The council leans forward.
Reptile?
Reptile.
Probably.
It certainly looked reptilian.
Scales.
Four legs.
Tail.
Face suggesting it had opinions on whether mammals deserved to inherit the Earth.
And
large.
Children.
A giant fucking lizard.
The council pauses.
Crocodile?
No.
Alligator?
No.
We had already exhausted our ability to distinguish those two.
This was unmistakably
lizard.
A very,
very large lizard.
Bro and I stopped.
Looked.
And almost immediately,
the Discovery Channel archives buried somewhere in my childhood brain produced a name.
Komodo dragon.
The council becomes interested.
Was it actually a Komodo dragon?
Children.
I don’t know.
Maybe.
Perhaps the information board explicitly said so.
Did we read it?
What do you think?
The council sighs.
Could have been an actual Komodo dragon.
Could have been another monitor lizard species.
Could have been some relative whose main lifelong frustration is humans constantly walking up and saying:
“Komodo dragon!”
The Archive refuses to slander zoological taxonomy.
So historically accurate statement:
It looked like one.
And therefore,
to Bro and me?
Komodo dragon.
Case closed.
The council stamps the unofficial identification.
And naturally
“Wawwwww.”
Not quite tortoise level ancient reverence.
Different energy.
The tortoise had felt like an elder.
This?
Children.
Dragon.
The word alone carries expectations.
You cannot place an animal in front of two stoned people,
call it some form of dragon,
and expect the conversation to remain scientific.
Impossible.
Bro stared at it.
I stared at it.
Then one of us asked the obvious question.
“Why are they called dragons?”
The council pauses.
A perfectly reasonable question.
Exactly.
Because children
dragon.
Humanity already had a definition.
Large mythical reptile.
Wings occasionally.
Hoarding gold.
Princess related employment opportunities.
And most importantly
fire.
The council nods.
Fire is significant.
So we inspected the creature.
No fire.
Nothing burning.
No scorched earth.
No smoking zookeeper sprinting away.
No molten rocks.
Just giant lizard.
The council concludes.
Perhaps not dragon.
But name says dragon.
Conflict.
And this is where Bro and Nuo’s Department of Unqualified Zoology resumed operations.
Maybe they used to breathe fire.
The council freezes.
What?
Evolution.
Children.
Remember evolution?
Fish crawled out of the ocean.
Taxes happened.
We already established this field of science was flexible.
Perhaps ancient Komodo dragons breathed fire.
Then at some point evolution looked at the trait and said:
Unnecessary.
Removed.
The council objects.
Evolution does not
Vestigial trait.
I declared.
The council becomes offended on behalf of biology.
Do you know what vestigial means?
Mostly.
Good enough.
Perhaps somewhere inside the modern Komodo dragon sits one tiny useless organ,
the last sad remnant of a once magnificent biological flamethrower.
The council stares.
This is entirely unsupported.
Yes.
But children
look at the name.
Dragon.
Someone knew something.
Bro considered this theory with the seriousness it deserved.
Which is to say
far too much.
Maybe they never breathed fire.
Then why dragon?
Maybe because they’re huge.
But giant lizard already works.
Maybe ancient people saw one and thought dragon.
Then why no wings?
Could wings also have been removed?
The council slams the brakes.
No.
Fine.
Fire only.
We preserve some standards.
Very few.
Children.
The animal moved.
Slow.
Heavy.
Tongue perhaps flicking.
That particular lizard walk where every step seems to communicate:
I have nowhere urgent to be
because everything smaller than me should move first.
The council nods.
Respectable.
And then
our previous scientific inquiry resurfaced.
Mating.
The council groans.
Of course.
Could Komodo dragons mate with crocodiles?
No idea.
Alligators?
Also no idea.
Could crocodiles mate with alligators?
Still unresolved from earlier.
Could all three
The council intervenes.
Stop building the reptile cinematic universe biologically.
But Bro and I had questions.
Children.
Many questions.
Very few answers.
Which was ideal.
Answers end conversations.
Ignorance provides runway.
One question created another.
Then another.
And because neither of us had bothered reading the information board,
no facts existed nearby to spoil the fun.
The council points toward the sign.
The facts were literally beside you.
Decorative rectangle.
Nothing more.
The giant lizard received a backstory.
Obviously.
Perhaps last fire breathing dynasty.
Perhaps descendant of dragons whose wings and flames had been stripped away by the cruelty of evolution.
Perhaps exile.
Perhaps warrior.
Maybe crocodiles feared it.
Maybe the giant tortoise had once been its commanding officer during the Jurassic Wars.
The council pauses.
You are merging lore now.
Children.
Cinematic universe.
Continuity matters.
The tortoise
ancient survivor.
The crocodile
alpha,
despite scientific objections.
The Komodo dragon
fallen descendant of fire breathing royalty.
The fish?
Romantic subplot.
The council reluctantly admits structural coherence.
And there we stood,
two people whose actual names remained mutually unknown,
constructing a mythology for reptiles.
Again.
For an unknown duration.
Time had become irrelevant inside this zoo.
I had entered with no schedule.
Bro apparently had no schedule urgent enough to interrupt reptile discourse.
The gates would close eventually.
Until then?
Children.
We had animals to misunderstand.
The council nods.
And importantly
snake quest still active.
Somewhere behind all the dragon theories,
the quest marker blinked.
SNAKES.
We had not forgotten.
Well
temporarily,
yes.
But this was no longer the aquarium level total derailment.
We knew we were close.
The reptile evidence was mounting.
Crocodiles.
Tortoise.
Giant lizard.
Children.
Our biological navigation system was working.
The council raises an objection.
Correlation
Silence.
Never question my methods.
We had followed reptiles.
The reptiles had continued.
Therefore,
snake.
This is mathematics.
The council chooses not to fight.
Eventually,
the Komodo dragon
or giant lizard who had been unfairly drafted into our Komodo mythology
received sufficient reverence.
The Philosophy Meter filled.
Backstory complete enough.
Fire breathing hypothesis unresolved.
Cross species romantic compatibility unanswered.
Children.
Good exhibit.
We moved.
One path.
Then perhaps another.
The Archive does not preserve the precise turns.
But then
there.
The council goes still.
Building.
Not another enclosure.
Not another broad open habitat.
A building.
And on it
the promise.
Snake house.
Silence.
Children.
The Promised Land.
The council erupts.
SNAKES.
We had arrived.
After all that.
Without asking a single sober human for directions.
Without successfully reading a sign.
Without even remembering signs existed for a significant portion of the expedition.
Through nothing but
vibes.
Reptiles.
And unearned confidence.
The council looks back over the route.
Aquarium.
Lost.
Evolution.
Snake quest.
Not snake.
Not snake.
Not snake.
Crocodile.
Follow crocodile.
Another crocodile.
Possible alligator.
More philosophy.
High fading.
Bro’s cigarette box of salvation.
Giant tortoise.
Jurassic lore.
Giant lizard.
Dragon lore.
And finally
snake house.
Children.
Tell me my navigation system does not work.
The council reluctantly checks the destination.
You did technically arrive.
Exactly.
Biological navigation.
If animal becomes increasingly reptile,
continue.
Eventually
snake.
The council sighs.
This should not have worked.
Many great discoveries should not have worked.
Do not compare yourself to explorers.
Fine.
Many stupid afternoons should not have worked.
Better.
Bro looked at the building.
I looked at Bro.
No words necessary.
We had spent an unreasonable amount of time looking for this.
Not because snakes were rare.
Not because we had some lifelong serpent pilgrimage.
Simply because,
outside the aquarium,
one stoned conversation about evolution had produced the thought:
Snakes.
And once the quest marker appeared
we obeyed.
Children.
That is how easy it is.
Curiosity does not always arrive with profound motivation.
Sometimes it is just:
I wonder where the snakes are.
And suddenly every animal in the zoo becomes navigational evidence.
The council nods.
The building stood before us.
The destination.
The culmination of
well,
very little actual effort,
if we’re being fair.
We had mostly wandered around staring at reptiles.
But emotionally?
Expedition.
The council raises banners.
THE SNAKE HOUSE.
Bro and Nuo.
Two Bros.
Government names still unnecessary.
Degrees still unknown.
Scientific credibility
zero.
Commitment
absolute.
And for one moment,
we stood there with the satisfaction normally reserved for completing difficult quests.
Children.
We had found snakes.
Well.
The building containing snakes.
Presumably.
We had not entered yet.
The council becomes cautious.
Do not celebrate before visual confirmation.
Fair.
But the sign said snake house.
And even I could understand that.
Probably.
Maybe there was English.
Maybe snake imagery.
Maybe Bro read it.
Children.
The details do not matter.
Recognition happened.
This
was it.
The promised land.
The council looks toward Nuo.
Any regrets about not asking directions?
None.
Had we asked,
we might have found it ten minutes earlier.
Exactly.
And missed crocodile politics.
Tortoise mythology.
Dragon evolutionary tragedy.
The council pauses.
Point taken.
Efficiency would have robbed us.
Again.
Story Nuo was not making that philosophical argument.
Story Nuo was simply delighted that his objectively terrible method had worked.
The council watches him puff up.
Biological navigation.
Vibes.
Successful.
Never question my methods.
The council immediately prepares several historical counterexamples.
Not now.
This chapter belongs to victory.
We stood before the snake house.
The high
restored.
Curiosity
fully charged.
Bro
still Bro.
Nuo
still Bro.
And somewhere behind those walls
snakes.
Children.
At last.
Thus concludes Chapter Seven.
The Giant Fucking Lizard.
The Possible Komodo Dragon.
The Question Of Why Dragons Are Called Dragons.
The Complete Absence Of Fire.
The Vestigial Flamethrower Theory.
The Continued Crocodile Alligator Reproductive Inquiry.
The Reptile Cinematic Universe.
The Biological Navigation System.
And
The Promised Land.
The Snake House.
Children.
We could have asked for directions.
We could have read signs.
We could have used a map.
Instead,
we followed crocodiles,
consulted a giant tortoise,
investigated a dragon,
and eventually
there it was.
Snakes.
The council reluctantly marks the navigation method:
SUCCESSFUL.
Never question my methods.
