Your parents were pets to the 1%. Because of body mods to help them serve that role more authentically, you were conceived with the help of doctors and engineers, with the goal of improving their family balance. You too, like your parents before you, were quickly "improved" - you were snipped before you could even walk, and your parents learned your smell while it was mixed with the tinge of disinfectant, even as a nurse registered your birth and your serial number with the International Pets' Union database. You lived for your keepers, even as you lived for your parents, at first, for your parents shared you with them without a trace of jealousy. You were almost one, the first time you were separated from your extended family; your keepers dropping you off at the Bodyshoppe with the first snow, and taking your parents with them as they left. Still, they’d never raised a finger to hurt you, so you trusted them. That was your first year serving as a Fawn in the Reindeer Corps. You met dozens - maybe even hundreds - like you, and _definitely_ hundreds like your parents. When spring came and the snow melted, you were thrilled to see your parents waiting at the curb with you to be picked up by the delivery van, dressed in nearly the same uniform as you. When you were returned to the rest of your family, they spoiled you as the newest addition to the family, which didn’t quite make sense to you at the time. They seemed to be eager to see the mark on your hip; you don’t quite know where that came from, but if they like it, then you like it, too. Your paws were different, afterwords, a little better at their job - and those useless floppy things on your back were gone, thankfully. You also had a little handle on your nose and another on your tail, but they didn’t bother you.
That was only the first time you were dropped off at the place with all the other dragons, and you grew to look forward to the first snowfall. But before that could come again, you noticed that your mistress had begun to smell different, and her belly was swelling. In Fall, your human family rushed out of the house one night and came back two days later. Her belly was gone, and she had a kit of her own in her arms - small, and pink, and wrapped in cloth. You nuzzled at it, licked its face, and chuffed a greeting at it. It gurgled inarticulately, and then they took it away. Before too long, though, the chill in the air turned into snowfall, and your parents’ excitement was beginning to show, too. A few more days later you were back at the place, riding around the city and being friendly with everyone you met. Once again, it was over too fast, and you were back home.
And your life had gone on like that for almost ten years. You had every single uniform to date in a closet, and you were still allowed to wear your Peppermint voice, even as the man-kit had grown into an energetic young boy alongside you; you had become inseperable over the years, over years of petting, play, and occasional pony rides.
Sure, you weren’t given a choice about it, but you can’t imagine living any other life but this one.
Yeah, in the sense of "military brat". In this case, this is the runaway, 575-word result of taking a typo WAY too far. I was trying to decide what the Reindeer Corps did with mid-sized dragons, and I said the following gem:
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Now I'm trying to grow up as a Reindeer brat.
What I meant to say was,
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Trying to imagine growing up as a reindeer brat!
Combining the two yielded this, styled after the background packages described in Eclipse Phase. I'd consider this a subset of "hyperelite" by the way, if you want game mechanics; I'd also try to translate the following into game terms:
"
Gain +Resources, +Contacts, -Naiive, -No Natural Weapons
