The Bayou Holds Many Secrets
A Fanfiction by Amanda Dressel
Author's Note: This story covers the events that occurred before and during the events of Simone in Lena's history from the film Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island. Lena Dupree, Simone Lenior, and Morgan "Moonscar" MacWright are copywrited to Warner Brothers/Hanna Barbera. Cat God stories, Fiona Dupree, "Jolly" Roger Jacobson, and "Wolf" Jackson are copyrighted to Amanda Dressel and David Aaron Hiles.
The thick, humid air of the Louisiana bayou was penetrated by the first rays of sunshine as they emerged from the horizon on the Gulf of Mexico. The light pierced through the eerie shadows of the night, dancing over the murky marshlands. It wasn't long before the crickets' chirping and the squeaks of nocturnal bats faded, to be replaced by the croaks of frogs and the distant whoops of the crane.
The sounds of morning eventually became official, making themselves present as they surrounded a small settlement established on one of the swamp's many islands. Windows were still dark, none of the inhabitants had risen yet – except one.
Fiona Dupree rose from the bundle of blankets and looked around. Her bleary vision adjusted to the newfound light coming in through the doorframe and the eight-year-old grinned broadly. Taking but a moment to stretch her arms and yawn, Fiona scratched her scruffy, curled head of crimson hair as she turned to her mother beside her.
The island was small and only permitted a few houses for the settlers. Due to the lack of space for further building, the houses were crowded, fitting two or more into a single bunk. Fiona giggled when she heard the soft snore of her mother amongst the various others that echoed off of the wooden panels.
"Mama," Fiona urged, nudging the raven-haired woman at her side, "The sun's up. Time to get up!"
Lena's chocolate eyes slid open, only to be met by her daughter's green, eager to start the day. She pulled a mussed lock of curls from her forehead as she rose to a sit, looking down at Fiona with, despite how tired she was, a very amused glance.
"So," the Cajun woman purred in a high-pitched, milky tone, "Just because the sun's up means everyone's gotta get up?"
Fiona laughed. "Yeah, we don't have to wait for the sun, we can get up earlier!"
"Well, let's not go that far, hon," Lena smiled, kissing Fiona's cheek and helping her down from the bunk. The twenty-six year old turned her attention to the bed sheets that lay in a mess on the mattress.
The stout red-haired girl padded across the floor to another bunk. Lena craned her neck and managed a "Fi, don't even think about-!" before her daughter took a flying leap onto the neighboring bunk.
"Ooph!" came a grunt from the bunk's occupant, shooting straight up in the sheets, followed by a firm THUD! As she slammed her bed onto the bottom of the top of the frame. The older woman shook her head, whisps of disarranged blonde hair dancing about her pale face.
"Morning, Auntie Simone!" Fiona giggled, sitting in her lap. She looked over at her mother with a satisfactory gaze. "Alright, Auntie's up!" Lena merely groaned and covered her eyes.
"Fiona, what did I tell you?" the dark haired woman sighed.
Recovering her breath, Simone patted Fiona on the head. "Now, now," she yawned, "Children will be children. Even if it does mean waking you up at odd hours." She shifted her weight and looked at Fiona with a sleepy gaze, "Child, it would do me a great favor if you'd let me up."
"OK," the girl replied, sliding off the bed. She ran to Lena's side and waited for the other woman to rise.
"Fiona, dear," Simone sighed as she came to a full stand, "why don't you gather some flowers for the Spring ceremonies."
"What do I do with the flowers?" Fiona asked.
"Well," Lena added, "We take flowers and place them in the hands of Hamasis." She was referring to the Cat God she and the other settlers followed. Simone picked up the girl and gestured to the great, hulking statue at the edge of the trees.
"The flowers will be our way of telling Hamasis that we are hoping for a good spring this year," Lena finished as Simone nodded, setting Fiona back down.
"Alright! Where should I start?" the girl asked.
"You can go as far as the fallen log on the bank. And stay where others can see you. We don't need the whole incident with the alligators again." Lena replied firmly.
Fiona changed quickly into her day clothes and ran outside barefoot, tromping through the thick black mud. She dodged a few sleeping cats in the reeds, her basket clutched in her fist as she neared the wildflowers growing in the shrubbery.
At first the flower gathering was going about in routine fashion. All around her, Fiona heard the groans and chatter of her fellow villagers rising for the day and emerging from inside. Surely someone could see her.
She picked her way through the mud puddles, although her attempts to stay fairly clean were to no avail; she was soon up to her thighs in the inky mud. Grabbing a few blossoms from a dangling branch, Fiona thought she heard a distant whistle. Her head shot up from the greenery as she spotted an unfamiliar form making its way through the thinning fog.
"Careful, there! These swamps are unpredictable! Move slowly, men!" came a gruff call that sounded over and over. A few other settlers, then more, until all of them, came to a stop, as if frozen in time. The island's villagers all came to the bank to see who their visitors were, and among them, Auntie Simone and Lena.
As the new vessel came to a seamless halt on the bank, all heard yells and thuds as ropes her steadied, sails lowered, and an anchor dropped. Soon followed a series of thundering footsteps as the meager yet burly crew clamored onto the shore. But of all the warlike men that came to greet the villagers, one stood out, always in front.
A tall man he was, stocky build and shoulders as wide as a tree trunk, Fiona would have described. A quiet gaze of the leader that silenced all in its path, and a characteristic scrunch on his weather-beaten face. At the base of his jaw hung a dark, grayish beard. But nothing held Fiona's attention more than the audible clanking of the sword that hung at his side. With every step she heard the clanks as Morgan MacWright and his men filed up the bank and stood before the villagers.
These newcomers looked scary. Their dirty, torn clothing, their mussed features and wild eyes. The men of the village immediately took up a defensive posture, clearly not knowing what to expect of the men before them.
"Fiona!" the girl heard her mother call, "Over here!"
Lena sighed with relief as her daughter ran to her side. She reached out and held Fiona gently beside her as they moved to the back.
"Please tell us who you are," one of the villagers, "Wolf" Jackson asked. He was tall and fairly stout. Clean-cut and gentle brown eyes besetting his features, many of the villagers might have suspected him to be Fiona's father, but nobody dared ask. "Identify yourselves," he said again in his deep voice, louder the second time.
The bearded leader of the scrappy group laughed heartily. A moment passed before the burly man chuckled, "Oh, I'm sorry, lad! My appearance mighta scared you, eh?" He laughed again, it was hard-edged but with enough warmth to bring the level of Fiona's initial fear down, "No need to worry. The name's Morgan MacWright. We'd like to share some o' this fine land with ya."