Yet another fandom I'm stepping into. It's nice to broaden our horizons.
Yet ANOTHER story in this archive about Jake and Neytiri's kid. You may find this one a bit different...maybe. It's a coming of age story, sort of. And a little "What If?" fic, as in "What if Jake and Neytiri's son wasn't exactly the poised, brilliant young boy that everyone expected?"
What if he was a little dork?
XD This isn't anything too serious, I just wanna see what it becomes if I keep going.
Before you antagonize me over anything you think I've gotten wrong: there is a major barrage of author's notes at the end explaining some of the things you might not notice the first time around.
I do not own Avatar, but I do own Mosyk.
Read. It's good for you.
--Phanny
It had been thirteen years since Jake Sully had become leader of the Omaticaya clan, thirteen years since princess Neytiri had taken on the role of Tsahik after the passing of her mother, and thirteen years after the mated pair had had their first child.
The son of Neytiri and Jake was the son of nobility and was expected to excel at everything his parents had excelled at -- both were great warriors and hunters, why wouldn't their first born son be the same?
Unfortunately, the answer to that question had since turned out to be "because life isn't fair."
Mosyk, the prince of the Omaticaya clan had somehow turned out to be the very opposite of a graceful, capable Na'vi -- the now thirteen-year-old was deemed the clumsiest, most inept Na'vi that had been seen in a long time, not to mention one of the smallest. When part of a race in which the adults stand at nearly nine feet, and the adolescents reach six by the time they turn thirteen, it was very embarrassing to be only five feet and two inches tall and to be looked down upon even by his own peers. He was known to careless and sometimes lazy, and though his parents loved him they couldn't help but be a little frustrated with him at times (especially because Neytiri wasn't exactly known for having a lot of patience, even for her own son).
"Mosyk," Mosyk's ear twitched as a low voice called his name. He mumbled something along the lines 'go away,' but the voice didn't relent. "Mosyk, get up."
Mosyk lay curled up in a tight ball in his hammock, sound asleep. It was early in the morning, and most of his family, the other members of the clan included, were waking slowly, preparing for another day.
Jake Sully shook his head in frustration. For some reason his son never woke on time, prompting the daily ritual that had started since the day he had been deemed old enough to start training.
"Mosyk, I will tip this hammock over if I have to."
Mosyk grumbled, but did not stir.
"Oh, for Eywa's sake," when Jake made a promise he followed through, as always, and with a yelp of surprise young Mosyk was sprawled out on the floor of their small home. He shook his head wildly, trying to drag himself out of the haze of sleep completely.
"Come on," Jake helped his son off of the floor, as he was still dazed from his rude awakening, "after breakfast you have to practice with your tsko swizaw today."
Mosyk winced. He hated bows and arrows -- all that precise aiming just wasn't for him. But then his father said the magic words.
"You don't want Ou'tan to beat you again, do you?"
The only thing worse than Mosyk's clumsiness was his temper and competitiveness. Ou'tan was the same age as him, but taller, stronger, and, in his humble opinion, better than his peers in every way. When that boy went on one of his bragging sprees it took all of Mosyk's self-control not to just hit him in the jaw to shut him up.
Never mind the fact that he'd have to jump pretty high to even reach Ou'tan's face at all, and he'd probably do more damage to his own hand by taking a swing at him.
"I don't even care what he thinks of me," Mosyk lied, "he's a…what's the word mother uses on you?"
"Skxawng," Jake sighed.
"Yeah," Mosyk nodded, "he's a big one."
It took all of Jake's might not to agree with his son. As the clan leader he needed to be impartial, right? It was just hard to deny that when it came to intelligence, Ou'tan wasn't exactly the brightest star in the sky.
When Jake turned back to his son he saw the young Na'vi's mouth open, prepared to speak.
"Yes, you have to go," Mosyk nearly jumped out of his skin when he's mother's voice rang in his ear. He was about to ask her how she knew what he was going to say, but she cut him off, "you complain every time before you go. I expect it."
"But I'm no good at it," Mosyk grumbled, his voice soon taking on a pleading tone, "sa'nu, you've seen me…once I made a tiny misstep and poor Hufwe got a swizaw right in the--"
"And that is exactly why you must practice," Neytiri interrupted, "go eat and then follow Txur and the others and try not to hit anyone this time."
Mosyk knew that would be easier said than done, and when he looked up he saw Hufwe herself give him a rather scathing look as she passed by.
"Mosyk," Txur, the warrior in charge of training the younger Na'vi for the day, said to the young prince, "you are aiming too far to the right."
Mosyk grunted in frustration, lowering his bow and sighing. A few minutes ago he had been aiming too far to the left, then he was told to move farther away from the tree -- his current target -- and now his aim was off again. Nothing ever seemed right!
Too bad he couldn't blame his teacher, Txur. The elder Na'vi was strict, but not unreasonable, and he was willing to help Mosyk as best he could, but for some reason he just couldn't get it right.
"When you are hunting you have only one chance, you must hit your target on the first try," Txur said, not unkindly, "because this is only training you do not have to aim as quickly, but you must hit the target at least once before you may rest."
"He'll be up all night," Ou'tan snickered to one of his friends. Mosyk's eyes narrowed.
Ou'tan had the same light blue skin as any other Na'vi, same with his tail, hands and feet…somehow, even though Ou'tan looked pretty average, Mosyk couldn't help but look at him closer and see everything about him that made him so ugly in his eyes. Ou'tan had a big nose, a flat face with a stupid, blank expression permanently imprinted on it, and his eyes were narrow and just…ugly. He was a bully and an idiot, he was hideous inside and out, and yet Mosyk couldn't stop himself from feeling inferior by comparison.
It was when Txur had left the area to help another youth farther away from Mosyk that Ou'tan and his friends decided to quit playing nice.
"Tiny little prince can't even shoot a swizaw?" Ou'tan muttered in that gravelly voice of his, "what's the point in even trying? A baby yerik would step on you before you could aim!"
Mosyk took a deep breath and said nothing. 'Stay calm,' he thought, 'do not react, stay calm…'
"Are you ignoring me?" Ou'tan said, irritated, "you can't even hear right!"
'Calmcalmcalmcalm…' Mosyk's thoughts became more frantic.
"When was the last time you did something right, Mosyk?" Ou'tan taunted, "when was the last time you did anything to make you a little less of a useless--OOF!"
Mosyk's inner mantra had failed. He'd dropped his bow and arrow instantly and launched himself at the larger boy, bowling him over. A girl near them squealed in surprise as both boys writhed on the ground. This was no sparring match or anything -- just a brutal, senseless fight.
Mosyk tried to beat and bruise every part of Ou'tan that he could reach, while Ou'tan tried to get his feet beneath Mosyk's stomach to kick him off. Mosyk had always been taught not to harm any member of his clan, but his temper had gotten the better of him, and only when he heard a booming voice behind him did he actually realize what he was doing.
"Enough!" Txur wrapped his arms around Mosyk's waist, prying him off of his clan mate at last. One of the other children had obviously gone to fetch him when the fight began.
"Continue training," Txur said to the other children, who had gathered around like a little audience, "I'll be back soon."
Mosyk frowned at the fact that Txur could easily sling him over his shoulder and carry him, while he had a tight grip on Ou'tan's shoulder as he led them both back to Hometree.
Mosyk winced at the thought of facing his parents. He was in so much trouble.
If looks could kill, Neytiri would have reduced her son to ashes by now. Mosyk could do nothing but keep his head down, his eyes focused only on his feet as he avoided his mother's gaze.
Unfortunately, that was something Neytiri would not accept.
"Mosyk, you will look me in the eye when I speak to you," she said sternly, and when her order seemed to fall on deaf ears she cupped her hand beneath Mosyk's chin and raised his head to face her, "first, are you hurt?"
Mosyk looked at some of his cuts and scrapes, but shook his head, "not badly. They can wait."
"Then explain yourself," the Tsahik's gaze was hard, "what made you believe that starting a fight would be a good idea?"
"It was just--Ou'tan was teasing me again and--"
"And getting angry and reacting like you did is what makes him tease you," Neytiri interrupted, "he wants you to react, and--"
"So how come I'm always the one to get in trouble?!" Mosyk shouted suddenly, "he bothers me and he gets away with it!"
"Ou'tan will be punished too," Neytiri tried to keep her voice level, "neither of you are getting away with anything, now stop that yelling and let me speak!"
Mosyk quickly shut his mouth, wincing as he waited for his punishment.
"You two will not be training," Neytiri began, "you will both stay in the camp and you will perform whatever tasks your father and I give you without arguing, no matter how unimportant and dull they seem to you."
"Will I get to train again?" Mosyk finally gathered up the nerve to speak, "ever?"
"When I think you deserve it," Neytiri replied.
A long stretch of silence spread between them before Mosyk spoke.
"Mother…I really am sorry."
"I believe you," Neytiri's gaze softened a bit, "that does not reverse what you did, but I believe you."
Apparently, sometimes being sorry just wasn't enough.
"Go find Ha'ni," Neytiri said, speaking of the clan healer, "she'll put something on those scratches. I expect to see you at dawn tomorrow, no later."
Mosyk sighed and left his mother, his head lowered and his back arched in a slouch.
He had to be awake at dawn?
Notes notes notes:
First of all, the only names in here that are actual Na'vi words are Hufwe and Txur. The other ones I just sort of formed in my brain and that I liked the sound of.
I know not all of the dialogue is italicized or anything, but yes all of the dialogue in this chapter is spoken in Na'vi.
In the first part, the reason Mosyk suddenly goes from calling Neytiri "mother" to "Sa'nu" (mama/mommy) is because he is begging and pleading. You can't tell me you've never done it before -- going from "yes mom" to "pleeeease mommy?? D:"
Mosyk's name (in my head, at least) is pronounced "Moss-EEK." The emphasis is on the latter half of the name.
Mosyk's height is not just to make him all cute 'n speshul. Jake's human genes have to come in somewhere, right? Mosyk has a completely average Na'vi appearance, but instead of being the average height of a Na'vi thirteen-year-old, he's about the same height as a human thirteen-year-old. Guess he got the short end of the stick, eh? *rim shot*
I cannot see Neytiri or Jake (especially Neytiri) being lenient on Mosyk just because he's their son. When it comes to punishment he gets the same treatment as everyone else. And I totally think that Jake would tip his hammock upside down to wake him up if he was driven to it.
I'm not sure if it's mentioned or not in the movie (I've only seen it once, and I had to go to the bathroom twice and had a friend talking loudly into my ear for a good bit of it too) but I think the Na'vi clans have healers.
Mosyk gets a little more likable as the story progresses, don't worry.
