Dough Faced Dragon: The World Of Fy, #1

By Eri Nelson

**An Artistic Rendering**
 
(All of Eri Nelson's work are her own expressive interpretations of words. Hence a great deal of morphological reasoning is broken.)
 

So my name is Fy, not real impressive I know but hey I am not just my unusual name. I am a dragon killer. Yes, I know you’re laughing thinking this forty something red head is a slayer of dragons with a questionable look upon your face. But hey, it is true.

My life from the outside looking in, I admit, is funny or at least it can be if I were not the one living it (I smirk at the insanity that is my life). Truthfully since you’re destined to be with me as I walk the pages the unorthodox author has bound me in, I am sure you may giggle at my expense.
 
Like I was saying, I am a dragon killer who has reached a slump or should I say a slow season as to killing dragons. Perhaps it’s the heat of the summer or just a migration of the retched beast to cooler climates but I have found myself amidst a seasonal job to scrounge up my part of the rent money.

My temporary employment, wouldn’t you know it, has me determined to be on the hunt for, you know it, a dragon or what I think is a dragon. Of course, since we are talking about my life, it is not a typical hunt. No, this one is layered in the moldy complications of oven inflamed mounds that left my desire to eat sandwiches the first day I started.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eri Nelson
• Release date: Oct 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533347800

Book preview

From the Author:

I am overjoyed that you have obtained one of my books. As the total creator of everything, you will now hold between your hands at the time of acquiring any of my books, I must warn you that errors may be at foot. I am very hands on with every aspect that might bear my name. Due to that fact typos or oops might appear. This simple trademark to myself is one of the main reasons I have dawned a new leaf’ to my writing career. All of my work can now only be found off of my own site dearharts.com. Please read more below on my biography.

Best Wishes

Eri Nelson

About the Author:

Eri Nelson born Erica Walcott is an Indie Author and the youngest of three in a family of five. Erica became Eri (airy) from her mother who called her that for as long as she could remember. The short take on her name took on a more solid base with the love of her life and husband, Jeff Nelson.

Together they have been for the past twenty years. Within that time, they were able to raise one daughter and endless amount of pets.

Writing is a passion for her and an abundance of never ending joy. Only one thing tops that for Eri... and that is when a reader enjoys the read...

(More on Eri)

Eri Nelson is a nontraditional indie author who manages all areas of her fiction, fantasy, paranormal, action, adventure and sometimes-erotic writing. Eri handles all the groundwork of her books, even the editing. Because of this Eri strives to improve her abilities along with trying to explain to readers her far from traditional sentence structures. However, she will openly admit that typos follow her.

Join Eri and her shadowy side of writing as she takes you along to explore new desire hunger filled worlds where your mind can share in the heat of the read.

Bob, this book is dedicated to your memory and the space that will forever lay vacant now that you are gone.

I knew when I had to shy away from my day job of killing dragons it was going to be one of the biggest mistakes I was about to make. Of course, no one would think to look for a dragon killer in a dough joint or would they?

The weeks were rolling along and like usual I was loathing the smell of flour for one more day. Not many would say they can smell dough but once you have four weeks of enduring the oven touched mounds you soon learn to lose your yearning for sandwiches. Therefore, today my appetite depressors were rolling along when the new face caught my sight.

In truth, his face was not new I had seen it before. Although I had never had to work side by side him either. He was sort of an overseer of this heated fortress, one of many actually.  However, he like the rest had not left a lasting impression. Well not a favorable one any ways.

As he had come around the corner a chill ran over my bones, leaving small goosebumps all up my arms. The only other time I had felt this strange sensation was when I was approaching battle. Little did I know that was exactly what I was about to do.

****

Chapter 1 A Doughjob

My corner of this rickety fashioned warehouse sets back from the rest of the dough slingers and typically leaves me out of any conversations. Not that I was looking to start any since these recommended plugs kept all but my breathing out of my ears. Therefore, much of my day is concentrated on the heated mounds rushing my way. As they toss and turn as well as occasionally hitting the ground, I guide the remaining few to the other side of the conveyors where the livelier groups are engaged in their morning chatter. How they are able to hear one another is somewhat amazing to me. However, most of the time I make up conversations based on their lip movements of what I think they are saying. So far there has been chocolate door prizes for all the trashy ladies and something about men using peanuts. The peanuts causes me to giggle since I am sure there was another word using the first syllable of peanuts.

Besides who needs chatter when most can’t say or spell my name and who can blame them. With the name like Fidelity, I had no recourse but to shorten it to Fy. It goes to show when I say it to people they have no idea of what I just said. Which ultimately has me spelling it and explaining my parents lack of name choices. Especially since fidelity is something my last three boyfriends could say I lacked when I happened to be dating all three at the same time before they found out about each other.

Looking out pass my shallow corner I look down the lane to Lolita. Lolita is a very robust as well as curvy woman with golden locks piled up on her head. There are quite a few stories about Lolita but for the most part I like her. Besides the backside of her could be pleasing when she is rushing along the line in a bustle to get her job done.  However, Lolita doesn’t work the line by herself, she shares it with two others. Tom is probably the most charismatic out of the three and I’ll be honest he is quite pleasing to watch in his own right as well. With his arms aligned with tats you are never a loss for a story.  In fact, each day if I watch carefully as his muscles work a new ripple works its way out into a tale or two. Between Tom and Lolita there’s Bonita. Bonita is probably the most unique with her once smoothing undertones to her menacing growls. In all honesty, I am not too sure of Bonita’s age.  One minute she looks at you and you swear a thirty-year-old mother of two is looking at you and the next moment an ornery sixty-year old with mischief on her mind.

It has taken me quite some time to hone any speaking relationships with either of them. Although I wouldn’t classify us as bosom buddies either. In fact, it was a chilly start to any kind of cordial conversation. Not that I blamed them, my age is not that of any the younger seasonal help and my physic is lined with scars from my day job, you know, fighting dragons. Well actually they look more like small dinosaurs with wings, Raptors to clarify.

Like most of us, dragons have evolved to some much smaller entities of themselves. Of course, that has not stopped the magic they possess.

Sure, dragons have magic. How’d ya suspect they were able to hide for so long? They say, the so called experts in dragon slaying, that the older the dragon the more magic they possess. In fact, that was one of the biggest reasons they had originally been hunted was for their magical powers and the kings who wished to own it, the magic that is. Me, well I have a score to settle, one that keeps getting larger each day I set out to hunt them down. At least my spite has created a good bounty for all the heads I can bring in. However, like any passion sometimes you have down times where seasonal jobs like this dough joint are needed.

When I had started my employment here I had my suspicions of a dragon hiding here. In my opinion the heat of the furnace was always a bit too hot and the white wears of the employees a tad torched than one might hope for all the so called safety precautions in this place. After weeks of stalking the area two things had become clear. One all the employees had more reasons to suspect me of lunacy and second the camouflage abilities of an ordinary dragon were not in play here. Unfortunately, my unnecessary lurking set off a few alarms before the maintenance crews would come out in their teams. Occasionally I barely had enough time to get out of the way of being seen.

Admittedly I enjoyed watching them come out in force. At times their slow but steady stream reminded me of a team of medics. Half the time I expected them to be wearing mask along with their blue uniforms and hair nets holding a gurney to rush out the old machine’s part to an ambulance. Notice I mentioned slow and steady, although always in force such as their tool belts wrapped over their shoulders would like to suggest to all the on lookers. While all of us white suited uniforms stood back catching the flying dough until the crises had been averted.

Although now as I stand in my corner looking out on to those bustling about, I find myself partly disappointed. It was just a job and a job that I was not particularly fond of doing. Speaking of jobs, there she comes, Mrs. Skivels.

Skivels was a stepping ladder in the overseer world. You know the type, all warm and nice if you talk to her in the company of men then cold as ice when you spoke to her woman to woman. I have never been fond of her type. At first I had not caught on to her demeanor. Besides, I wanted the job or should I say the money caused by the job... well   (pause for dramatic affect) the job sucked. Heck anyone in this joint would tell you that.  In fact, many look to retirement as parole. Me, well I was looking forward to the season’s end and my freedom.

As she stepped up to my corner I eyeballed her from my peripheral vision, her wire framed hands rustling the mounds overhead so they would spill down my line. It was not something odd to do since that point of the line can get stuck full of heated dough that was supposed to be soaring down my way. However, anyone else would have stuck around instead of leaving me in a flood of dough.

With the plugs in my ears I couldn’t hear her giggle but the toss of that broom framed body of hers moved around as if she had done something very humorous.

With a pull and a hustle, I began to clear my line so the mounds would run smoother and hopefully not cause me as much of a problem as they usually did. Of course, this was just the front line and a new hell was awaiting me on the back line where a new schedule for today was mine to set up for. Hey, no biggie at least that’s what I thought.

It was the usual push and pull of knobs before the old putter came to life in a cloud of floury smoke. If I were to take a gander I would have definitely thought this old girl was on her last leg. However, she was much like me.... Nearly forty something years old and showing much more wear and tear than it should but still kicking.

Meshing gears grind out squeaking motions, that even under the plugs in my ears assistance I could still decipher, move forth in an almost quaking wave. Creating a tremor that only reached the few inches of the machine where it just so happens I was standing. Although the low pulsed seismic waves traveling the small distant surprisingly left me with a desirable tingle that had me longing for other vibrations that perked my naughtier side into smirking under the vibrating still coursing through me.

As the pulsations tingling the fine hairs along my arms under the energy released from the old girls puttering came to life within her, I stood closer in which to try to hear the cogs rotating under their cut in teeth precision. The interlocking of such cogs transmits a torque geared to change the speed as well as direction of the power perking from the machine within. It was my hope that she would keep on puttering and there wouldn’t be any upcoming issues coming my way.

The set up was moving right along so far without any problems when my favorite heavy hitter came over with a pat to my shoulder and a smile on his face. Kye was a dark faced champion whose demeanor at times reminded me of a gentle giant. The only downside was that Kye was half my age and all of it on the