Thrax sat in the back seat of the police cruiser, for the fifth time that month. He had learned how to get comfortable in the cramped plastic seat with his hands and wings cuffed behind his back. Thrax was a fifteen year old silver dragon with copper ventral scales from his collar bone to the tip of his tail. He had green eyes. His wings were spanned by a blue flight membrane, his claws on his hands and feet were neatly trimmed - but hard to see beause they were retracted, his horns were still short, after all he was still young. He wore his usual attire: a black crew-neck T-shirt that he had cut to be a v-neck - which revealed his coppery chest - a pair of baggy black jeans that barely hid hisgenital slit, and going commando.
"You gotta stop doin' this stuff kid," the driver, a policstag called Sergeant Ogrady said. "Next time your parents might not be able to bail you."
Thrax scowled at that. His overprotective parents would never allow that. He was the heir to a multimillion dollar company that made clothing, furniture, and other apparel. His dad had founded the company and became another of those "rags to riches" stories that the Media loved to gossip about.
They arrived at the downtown station shortly enough. Sergeant Ogrady got out and opened Thrax's door, then lead him inside. They went by the reception desk into the back, the receptionist - an aging turtle - shook her head in disapointment at Thrax. The policestag lead Thrax to a holding cell and took off the hand and wing cuffs. "Wait here," the Sergeant said.
Thraxwalked over to the far corner of the room, where a series of hash-marks were scratched into the wall. Thrax unsheathed a claw and added a scratch, comming to a total of sisteen: all thefts. The first time was from when he was thirteen and stole a DS. That was when his parents decided to put him into a private school. This time it was a copy of Halo Reach, and Metroid Other M at the same time.
The sergeant came back into the holding-cell, carrying a disposable cellphone. "one call," he said holding the phone out to Thrax. He took the phone and dialed his home phone number. The phone rang three times - it always did, even if someone wasright there for the first two - before someone on the other end picked up. "Good afternoon, this is the Jacobson's residence. How may I assist you," A very persnickety, high class voice answered the phone.
"Hey Silvester, It's me is my mom there?" Thrax asked his lapine butler.
"I'm afraid not Master Jacobson, the Missus is out with the Mister at a social luncheon at the country club." Sylvester replied. "If it's not too bold to say, but shall I contact the Missus and relay to her of your plight?"
"Yes, yes," Thrax said. "Tell her where I am."
"Right away young sir."
Thrax hung up and handed the phone back to the policestag. "Can I go to the weight room?" he asked.
"I don't see why not," Sergeant Ogrady replied.
Thrax was in the weight room, using free-weights to do armcurls with his shirt off, whenthe sergeant came in. "Your parents are here Thrax go take a shower and get cleaned up I'll be waiting right here."
Thrax grabbed his shirt off of the nearby stack of dumbells and walked into the showerroom. He went to the last stall in the row of showers and turned the water on. He quickly undressed, setting them on the bench opposite the stall - next to a clean towel, and stepped into the shower. The first few times he had done this, the water had been ice cold. They still were, but he had gotten used to it so much that he had not taken a warm shower in almost a year. On a porcelin shelf set into the wall opposite the showerhead was a prepackaged bar of soap. He grabbed it and tore off the wrapping. He began to lather up his scales and rinse the sudds off, concentrating on diferent areas of the body as he did so.
Once he was finished he turned off the water and reached out of the stall to grab the towel. He dried himself off, then got dressed. He left the showerroom and joined the sergeant, who lead him to his office and Thrax's waiting parents. Thrax's mom wore a purple dress with a matching purse. She was all silver and her blue eyes were close to tears.
Thrax's dad on the other hand, was silver, with copper from his chin to tailtip. He wore a polo shirt and khaki pants. His eyes were close to tears as well, but they were tears of rage.
"Hi mom, dad," Thrax said meekly.
"Thrax," his dad spoke with venom in his voice, "you promised us no more stealing. And you broke that promise, frankly, I see no reason why I should pay bail."
Thrax was shocked as he heard this and was about to protest when his mother wailed. "Please tell me there's an alternative to juvenile hall Sergeant Ogrady." she cried.
Thrax's dad scowled at her, he clearly was not going to waste his money on bail, or any alternative that might cost more than just time.
"Well," Sergeant Ogrady mused, "There is the Conditioning School for Young Adults."
"What's that?" Thrax's mom asked.
"It is a privatly funded school for youth who need to be taught that crimes are wrong for a reason. Some of the country's most eteemed philanthropists actually whent there when they were young hoolagins."
"How long would he be there?" Thrax's dad asked.
"He will be there until he learns to make the right decisions, or until he is twenty-one. Whichever comes first."
"Well, What if he learns before then?"
"He will be returned to you to live however you see fit."
"No, if he gets out I never want to see his face again!" Thrax's father growled.
"But da-" Thrax began.
"Don't you 'Dad' me boy, I have no son to call me that! Sergeant get this delinquent out of my site, he's going to that shool whether he wants to or not!"
The nextthing Thrax knew was that he was sitting in a holding cell waiting for the transfer papers to be filled out.