Author's Note: Everyone in the story is 18 or older!
*****
Darryl George panted softly, sweat dripping from his arms. It was the second hour of training and he still had his summer reading to get to and it was the kind of mercilessly hot night that only the last grasps of a Californian summer could deliver. He could hear the faint sounds of his parents cleaning up downstairs - and knew that he wasn't getting dinner until he was done with his latest routine. He lowered his arms and let the tip of his practice sword touch the ground.
Being a dragon hunter was never going to be easy. But it was a lot harder when the temptation of his PC and unplayed hours of video games bought on the latest Steam summer sale sat
right
there next to where he was practicing.
Mayyybe I could play just one game...
he thought, looking at his computer.
The clump clump clump of his father coming up the stairs made his ears perk up. Darryl turned to the door of his room just before his father opened the door.
Dad wasn't the most talkative fellow in the world. Large and burly from years of training, furrowed with scars by encounters with dragons over the years, he looked as if he could read Darryl's mind with effortless ease. Wordlessly, he walked over and sat down on the bed, which squeaked under his weight. Dad's flint gray eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips.
"Again."
Darryl sighed.
Part of him couldn't wait for summer to be over. Most kids didn't get why he loved school so much. But six hours a day, where he wasn't constantly under Dad's thumb? That sounded damn good to him. He lifted his sword and then started to swing it in the patterns that Dad had taught him. Dad watched him with an utterly critical air, but Darryl didn't want to miss dinner, or have new bruises to try and conceal during the day. He was utterly focused, and once he was done with the sweep, Dad slowly lowered his head in what
might
have been a nod. He stood, then put his hands on Darryl's shoulders. By now, Darryl's growth spurts had put him nose to nose with his father.
"Remember," he said. "Dragons won't give you a second chance. So I can't." He punched Darryl in the stomach as hard as he could. Darryl fell to one knee, gasping. His father kicked him in the chest, then, rolling him onto his back. His sword went clattering across the floor. Darryl coughed as his father put his foot on his chest. "Never drop your guard while facing an enemy."
And with that, he started towards the stairs.
Darryl closed his eyes and let his head rest against the floor.
I fucking hate this family,
he thought, wheezing.
When Darryl rejoined his Dad downstairs, Mom had set the table. Their meal could have been called sparse and flavorless, but that might have been insulting to white bread with mayo on it. It was some kind of 'nutritional' meal that was made for making people strong and tough and lean, without adding extra fat. It tasted like cardboard, and it left Darryl feel like he was chewing on carpet by the end of the meal. He drank his second glass of water to try and wash the food down. Mom was, in many ways, a polar opposite of Dad. She was curvy and had a slight smile on her face most of the time. Her long, auburn hair hung around her shoulders like a waterfall.
Where Dad taught him the martial side of being a George, Mom taught him the history and what little magic that the family remembered. Dragon hunters had once filled every court in Europe. They had been among the first people to land on the North American continent - though even then, their order had grown increasingly secretive. With the loss of records and the changing attitudes of the world, the very idea of
dragons
had become ridiculous and ridiculed. Which itself was a massive effort from dragons themselves, according to Mom. Within a few generations, the monsters had convinced the entire planet that they had never existed at all, and the support for dragon hunters had essentially evaporated.
But there were still some families, like the Georges, who remembered their solemn vows.
Dragons were perfidious, shape-shifting monsters. Rapacious, greedy, and vain. The only thing about them that wasn't downright awful, according to Dad, was their combat skills. And even that was gotten mostly through cheating.
Darryl wouldn't have believed a word of it, if Mom hadn't broken the news to him by casting a magical
spell
in front of his very eyes.
Everything was true.
He had a
duty
to protect the world.
He just wished duty didn't involve eating freaking cardboard.
"So, honey," Mom said, her voice light. "I have some good news."
Dad grunted. "Yeah. Tell him."
Mom smiled. "You got into Princeton Prep this year. So, no more Sunnydale High for you - you can go to a real, high quality
collegic
school. Better education, better opportunities, better everything!"
Darryl blinked at her. From the tone of her voice, it sounded like she thought that he was going to be happy. Darryl had made as strenuous an objection as he could - considering Dad and his attitudes towards backtalk, that had basically been Darryl pointing out two vital facts. 1) He
liked
Sunnydale High School. 2) All of his friends
went
to Sunnydale. His mouth felt dry, despite having just washed down another chunk of crumbly crap with a glass of water. He shook his head.
"M-Mom!" he said, trying to not sound like a whiny teenager. "All my friends go to SDH!"
"You can make new friends!" Mom said, nodding. "I've been trying to get you into Princeton Prep for the past
year
."
Dad grunted, spooning more food into his mouth.
Darryl clenched his jaw. His fingers flexed, his whole body starting to quiver with rage. He closed his eyes and tried to keep it back. The last time he had tried to shout back at his father, well...it hadn't been pretty. But Mom too? He stood, feeling a lump in his throat.
"I'm going to bed," he said, his voice blunt.
"Well, um, start packing," Mom said.
Darryl, who had already started for the door, turned back to look at her. "Huh?"
"Princeton Prep is run like a boarding school," Mom said. "You'll be staying there for-"
Darryl gaped at her. Then he turned and stormed away.
Once he was up the stairs, Dad shook his head. "He'll get over it."
Mom sighed.
"I hope so," she said.
###
Darryl lay in bed, his body quivering with rage. His hands shook as he held his phone, his thumbs tapping away. The primitive flip phone piece of crap was the only kind of phone his dad would buy for him. But it still had