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Introduction:
What began as a playful observation on Bluesky (that the name “Arabella” is destined to belong to the naughtiest girl in any school) has now grown into a small constellation of stories. Mine took a folkloric turn with Saint Clare’s and Krampus; this one, shared here today, takes its own wonderful path.
So enjoy this spirited take on Arabella: The Patron Saint of Bad Behaviour Everywhere written by a fellow participant in the thread who wishes to remain unnamed, at least for now.
Again for clarity – this is a guest contribution to that Arabella-led challenge. It is entirely outside the Saint Clare universe. This is simply a wonderfully cheeky contribution inspired by the same mischievous spark: the girl Arabella whose name alone hints at trouble. I’m so delighted to be able to share it.
Guest Story – Reposted Here with the Author’s Permission.
Naughty Arabella’s Just Desserts
Was it even real? Did that really just happen?? I slid my claw along the gilded edge of the envelope in my pocket as I threaded my way through the throngs of teenagers toward Mr Climbover’s class.
It felt real enough. But it could be a trick. Arabella had never noticed me before – not that I minded but – she was the coolest girl in school, everyone knew her name and when she walked through the halls the other kids made space for her and her trail of lackeys trying to kiss her perfect butt.
Most of us dragons, if we bother to shapeshift, stick with other animals. It’s easier. Not her.
Arabella stayed in her human form indefinitely, as far as anyone knew. There were even some rumors she was actually human who somehow sneaked into the conclave’s boarding school – how else did she get the form so perfect??
All of her lackeys tried to mimic her, of course, with varying degrees of success. Her simpering entourage looked more like humans going trick or treating. Cheap costumes even. None of us dared say anything because the comet they followed could make or break anyone’s social standing with a single sneer.
As I settled into the hard wooden student desk, I reached for my stashed envelope again. I slid it out of my pocket and smoothly slipped it into my history text book on my desk. Its golden filigree edge peeked out of the heavily thumbed pages, a sparkle of hope for my own social standing.
An invitation to Arabella’s birthday party! With my name on it!
Well, not my actual name. In fact, no name at all on it. One of the trailing puppy boys handed it to me in the hallway this morning in the wake of Arabella on her way to – actually I don’t know where she was going, that wing only had the cafeteria and some of the faculty’s offices. Whatever.
Point is, for the first time, I had a chance to be seen at a cool girl’s nest. I wondered if her parents were as haughty as her. My parents were.. well they’re older and had always had big clutches. So many dragonlings they let us all choose our own names. So I guess “exhausted” is the word.
Mr Climbover rapped on his podium for attention and the classroom quieted down to watch him turn to write on the board. I don’t know why he bothered with this form. His presumably once glorious mane was so thin, we all called him Mr Combover behind his back. “The Fall of Elder Vale: or, the Deceit Of Humans” Oh good, another chapter on why dragon and humankind fight so much. I always aced these chapter-end quizzes, so I zoned out and day dreamed about Arabella’s party. Every year it was the biggest party, all anyone could talk about for the rest of the spring semester. And I was invited!
I floated along the rest of the week, savoring my daydreams. Sure Arabella didn’t know my name, but no one else did either! Maybe someone would notice me at the party of the year, I figured.
I was so caught up in this glowing possibility that I barely even registered the week’s drama. Several couples and polycules broke up or merged, the theater department whined about not having locks on their storage closet or something, and the cafeteria staff seemed extra grumpy. Just sort of the normal things I guess. I had my golden ticket, and I didn’t really care about much else.
The night of the party came, and the whole of the conclave’s teenager population descended on Arabella’s family nest. Arabella was only the second clutch, so her siblings could still be numbered on any set of paws. I envied her that. My own parents call me “you, the blue one”.
I was surprised to note that none of her siblings were home. Actually, her parents were nowhere to be seen either. I had brought a pie as a host gift, my own recipe. Luck dragons do have some manners after all, and most of my magic happened in the kitchen.
“What is that??” Arabella’s laughter deflated my bubble of thought like a fallen souffle.
“Uh, it’s a g-g-gooseberry pie.” I stammered, “I made it my-myself.” Great start. Well done. Some luck dragon.
“I mAdE iT mYsElF!” Arabella mimicked me holding my pie, gesturing in big goofy sweeps.
My face burned like the hills of Elder Vale, and I couldn’t figure out what to say as I shifted on my feet.
“And where is your human form?” Arabella sneered with an overtone of pouting, like I had personally promised her to shapeshift.
“That wasn’t on the.. I didn’t know” I glanced around the room EVERYONE had changed to some variant of human form. Cheap halloween costumes as far as I could see. How did I not get the memo??
Arabella flipped her golden hair over her shoulder and gestured toward the center of the room.
“Whatever I’m bored, just put it with the rest.” I was dismissed.
I followed her guidance to the center of the room, my long torsoed dragon form feeling hotter and hotter with embarrassment as I weaved through all the human shapes with their animal ears and tails.
When I saw the food station I nearly dropped my pie. There, on several long tables, were…..all of the missing desserts from the cafeteria. No wonder the cafeteria staff was so grumpy! I glanced back into the writhing mass of teenagers, and I realized the decorations all looked quite familiar. In fact – I had hand painted that rainbow myself for last year’s play.
It took me longer than I’ll ever admit to my math teacher, but I eventually realized that Arabella had stolen everything for this party, and with her parents out, I began to suspect she didn’t have their permission either. I had a choice to make. . One that made my face somehow even hotter.
Do I go along with the party and potentially get the social recognition I craved, or do I narc and finally see Arabella brought down a notch?
I chewed my bottom lip pensively and worked my way to the entrance of the den. I needed air. What to do? What to- what is that? My sensitive ears perked up.
In the distance I heard the clinking of belt buckles barely muffled by wings. Lots of wings. I looked out into the night to see a whole conclave of parents flying our direction, with implements of punishment in their claws. Oh no. Oh it’s too late. And there, flying next to Arabella’s father-my own.
I did the math a lot faster this time: it had been parent-teacher night, and the adults figured out together where we had all sneaked off to, with the school’s supplies.
I did make a choice then, the choice to not warn the party, but rather to stay outside and face my punishment out of sight.
My father was the first to land, and the rest of the adults gathered around, shifting into their respective bipedal forms of choice while I was grilled for details.
Luckily for me (ha) it was determined that my biggest sin was sneaking out of boarding school.
My father didn’t wait for the other adults to head inside, he bent me over right there & paddled me until I cried. But then all was forgiven. As my father hugged me, my bottom as hot as my face, I could hear a growing din of dragon bottoms being punished. Smacks & wails echoing through the night.
I glanced inside and saw Arabella right in the middle of it all, bent over a table full of stolen desserts, red faced and sobbing.
As my father and I flew back to the dorms, I mused to myself. It will be interesting to see how popular she is next week!