11:35:21 [Paul Doyle]: "Grawwr??"

Pauly the Anthro-Dragon slowly walked up to the Tavern entrance, feeling more confused than usual, and a bit uncertain and nervous since he had been away for so long. From what little he could tell, perhaps too much had changed. Would he still be welcomed, or even tolerated for that matter? This time, would he be seen as being a self-centered and opportunistic party-crasher? Granted, he had been prone to too much carnal naughtiness in the past. In retrospect he could see why people got irritated and annoyed by that kind of thing after a while. He was still unquestionably a sensual kind of guy, but times had changed. He'd wisened up a bit, and had experienced quite a lot in the wider world that had matured him somewhat, but not at the expense of his personality or humor.

Physically, he hadn't aged at all---after all, those who had genetically engineered himself and the first generation of his kind projected a several-centuries lifespan that was mostly because of his draconic blood. When human guys got married and had children they tended to get fatter and start losing their hair. Pauly didn't have much hair to begin with---just that which covered the same areas of a full-sized male gold dragon from the planet Pauly had originated from. The hair was still thick and black, and complemented by his lean, thickly muscular build. Once, he'd maintained his athletic conditioning primarily to successfully attract many, many lovers. He'd been so addicted to making love---gleefully aware he was genetically engineered to be sterile---that it now sort of scared him, looking back on it. Oh, he was still a horndog of the first caliber, but he'd found the love of his life and married her. He was now as monogamous as the similarly lusty full-sized dragons back home, who went from being promiscuous and infertile to strictly monogamous mates-for-life once the female came into season and chose the father of her children, based on several centuries of experience and interaction. He was certainly keeping true to his dragon blood, that way! but now he kept his athletic conditioning primarily to stay young, and also to keep his mate aroused. And yes, vanity was part of it. No sense denying that!

"Oh, by the primal Egg," he snarled to himself, stretching his wings and tail. He loosened the bones in his neck and back in one fluidly cracking motion. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath (careful not to activate his fire-producing organ) and exhaled. He'd purposely returned to the Tavern the way he'd the way he'd left it---fully naked except for a leather harness carrying various pouches and such. Anything potentially upsetting was, as then, naturally hidden from view. Other than a couple scars (one from a battle, another being an intricate ritual scarring taken directly from the full-sized dragons back home) and the diamond-studded platinum wedding ring which complemented his golden-scaled hide, very little had changed about his appearance. Pauly still had his disarmingly goofy smile and, of course, his chiseled form. No use distracting his old friends with technology far beyond that which they were accustomed to---to put it VERY mildly! That might scare them. His height and size alone would temporarily scare them, until they got used to it again.

Now, the main issue---would the Tavern regulars still BE his friends? He needed some comfort and solace right now, and the last time he'd tiptoed into the Tavern, a few weeks ago, he'd been a bit too shy to go any further. He'd slipped away, unnoticed, and had gone back to his personal spaceship. He had been briefly tempted to "listen in" on the Tavern with his ship's intelligence equipment---the two-kilometer distance was close enough to make robotic remote-controlled listening probes unnecessary---but these were not enemies he'd been listening in on, or even remotely suspected as being enemies. This was as paranoid as it was wrong. So after an unaided hunt---the first freshly-killed meat he'd enjoyed in several months---he'd flash-frozen the rest in an onboard compartment, and then felled another deer for his wife, his mate. Then Pauly flew home via a wormhole to her, a couple hours away in another star system on the other side of the galaxy. He'd delighted her with a primal diversion from futuristic living that made hunting for food an anachronism, but within a few weeks that uneasy, awkward discomfort had returned. Recent events in life had made him nervous and inadequate, so he'd returned again, to a hopefully sympathetic and receptive group of old friends.

Looking about again, he saw he was alone. He reached into one of the pouches on his leather harness and flipped open a tracking device for his ship, which was discreetly parked behind a nearby hill. A quick glance of the tracking device saw the ship was still fully secured, and most likely the armed sentries would not be needed---never mind the ship's own formidable self-defense programming. He'd be telepathically and electronically notified, in any event.

"Grawwr?" He thought to himself: What the hell am I doing, wasting time like this? This is one of the most peaceful, serene places I've ever been and I highly doubt anything's going to change that. Just do it and get your scaly tushie into the Tavern, silly dragon-man. And don't make a jackass out of yourself!

Just as Pauly finished putting his ship's tracking device back in its pouch, the sound of approaching people---people whose voices he recognized---startled him. Caught off-guard, he stumbled over his big clawed feet toward nearby bushes. A sharp branch raked Pauly's wing membrane and drew a thin line of blood. He stifled an involuntary yelp, and crouched behind the bushes with an uncharacteristic lack of grace. Even though he could seee the membrane had not been punctured, his heart raced, pounding with nervous fear.

Had they seen him? He wanted to see them, really did, but he still wasn't ready and now he felt embarrassed about himself. Pauly gulped and braced himself for the worst. Had they really seen him?