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Avet... has found herself annoyed. She has only one form. This isn't the problem, but this is what led to her noticing the problem. There is no way to preview what a dragon will look like. There are species books of birds and bugs and animals - but some of them are sub-par on noting where the dragon's colors go, and miscellaneous gods that she doesn't worship help you if you want to see what your color will look like on the form.

She is going to solve this problem. By taking some surveys. As in, grab photo paper, gather up a list of lines to go visit, and then knock on some doors and ask some questions and create a book series that organizes all possible forms, all known forms, what known lines look like in the forms - that sort of thing.

She starts with blue groups, because blue groups have the most available forms - she's gotten all of the big lines (well, all of the big lines that gave her the time of day) and is on the smaller ones. The ones with only one or two people. Or, in some cases, none.

This particular one's easier than some others; she doesn't need to fly to another country. It's Esmaar. She flies to the address of one 'Avar,' no line name. Apparently he had one and had some kind of explosive spat about it and gave it up. Not that it's her business. He's just another person for her survey.

She knocks on his door.
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A red girl, maybe a hundred seventy, opens the door. She looks at Avet's hair. She frowns. "What?"

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Avet notes the hair. Daughter, maybe? Odd that she wasn't in the records. Well, she can grab her while she's here.

"Hi," says Avet, "I'm doing a survey on shapeshifting forms - I am going to be making a centralized book on it because I think all of the available ones are rubbish. Do you, and any other dragons in this household have a few degrees?"
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The red girl smiles thinly. "The dragon in this household's upstairs. You want me to get him for you?"

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"... Sure?" says Avet, confused. That's a confusing sentence. What, does the red girl dye her -

Oh.

Blink, blink. Processing. Taking the part of her head that wants to run away and hide in a corner and tossing that in a box while the rest of her functions properly.

Does being a shren actually have anything to do with shapeshifting?

... Not really, no.

"But if you like you're free to take the survey, too. I should have specified, this is not dragons only."

Anymore.
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The red shren smirks. "Sure. Survey me."

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Avet can't tell if the red shren is trying to call her on a bluff or not. Joke's on you, red shren, Avet doesn't bluff.

"Okay then! Thanks." Out comes the clipboard. "Full name, if you please?"
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"Finnahdiamretmiar."

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Write write write.

"And how many forms do you have?"
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"This one and a cardinal."

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Write write - she has to switch papers for this part - write.

"And do you mind if I take photos of both?"
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"Go for it." Finnah poses.

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Avet smiles a little in spite of herself, and takes a photo of Finnah's human form. "And the cardinal, please?"

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Finnah shifts. The red is a splash along her wings and a dab of it at the crest, more intense than a real female cardinal.

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Avet moves to catch the splash of red correctly, then takes the photo.

"And that's it, thank you." She smiles at Finnah. "And if you don't mind, could you get any other -" ... There is a word. Missing. In Draconic. Avet frowns. ".... Dragons or shrens? In the house, could you please ask them if they'd like to take the survey?"

Why isn't there a word for that?
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"Yeah, sure. HEY AVAR HEY MIAL WANT TO TAKE A SURVEY?"

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A tiny silver-and-brown merlin zips down the stairs and, lacking a convenient perch, turns human.

"A survey about what?" he inquires.
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(Avar follows somewhat more sedately and without turning into a bird.)

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"What forms you have," Finnah says. She preens a feather and then shifts back. "She took pictures."

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"If you would prefer that I not take a picture of you, I will need to carefully describe where all assorted colors are on your form and it might take a bit longer," she clarifies. She doesn't add, 'And also it'll kind of annoy me.' "I am trying to provide a place to look for previews for -" Damn it there is the not-a-word space again. "dragon and shren forms. Since there's a lack of that."

(Ugh no seriously why is Draconic missing a word?)
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"You can take pictures of me if you like," shrugs Mial. "I'm not sure how much good it'll do you. Shren parunia with a potion-derived growth disorder, it'd take some interesting circumstances to come up with somebody whose forms turn out just like mine. Also, the word you're looking for is 'dragonish', although I'm a little surprised that you're looking for it."

It's not a Draconic word, though, it's a Leraal neologism - e'sisaak.
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"I'll note that and take pictures anyway. Couldn't hurt." She smiles at Mial. "Thank you, was it that obvious I was at a loss for a word?"

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"I speak Draconic too, you know. I've noticed its flaws already."

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"This is the first time I've had Draconic not give me a word. I'm kind of indignant, actually, what the hell, Draconic?"

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"Draconic has a problem with shrens," he says. "Anyway, your survey?"

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"Right, yes." She steps off the poor abused and crowded doorstep for the more open space of their front yard. "Over here please, and your full name?"

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