"I don't wanna go to bed!," shouted the little boy, tantrum in full-swing. His father was notorious for his tantrum-throwing, and Vasher was a chip off the old block. Nathan, baffled as to what to do, let the kid knock over decorations and lamps and stomp his little feet.
"Come on, Vash, it's way past your bedtime. You gotta get some sleep, all right?," Nathan said in an attempt to placate the child.
"Damn, Nathan, the kid putsh you to schame," declared Murderface, who'd been playing wheelchair bound, but abandoned the arcade game in favor of the drama unfolding in the rec room.
"But I don't wanna! You guys don't haveta go to bed early," Vasher whined, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Like a typical child he was fighting off exhaustion and it was making him irritable.
"Yeah but we're grownupsh," explains Murderface matter-of-factly. "Little kidsh gotta get to shleep scho they can…uh..grow big and strong and schtuff."
Tara walked in just as another squalling session was in full force, and was brought up short. "Vasher, sweetie, come on I'll take you to bed." The boy, knowing it was futile to protest any longer, heaved a sad, petulant sigh and ran to his mother's arms. "I supposed to be able to do what I want, Dethklok does what they wanna do!" He sobbed, burying his face in her shoulder as she picked him up and held him.
Nathan came to them, saying, "Hey…how about this. I'll take ya on a tour of the dungeon tomorrow if you go to bed."
"I hate you! I hate you!," the boy sniffed. "You don't care about me or Mommy!"
Nathan blinked, his face twisted into shock and hurt. He was speechless, and stood there as Tara comforted him. She turned to him and said softly, "I'm sorry, Nathan. He don't mean it. I'm gonna take him to his room now." She held his eyes earnestly and apologetically before carrying the boy out of the room. His sniffling could be heard receding into the distance.
"Hmmph," snorted Murderface, who went back to his game. Nathan sank into the couch and put his face in his hands. God, having children was brutal. He needed to write a song about it.
Toki was wandering the corridors when he met Tara with Vasher in her arms. He had quieted down with an occasional sob or hiccup at this point, and the Norwegian gave her a quizzical look. "Ams everysthing okeys?," he asked, keeping his voice low.
"Oh, he's been throwing a Nathan-sized tantrum," explained the redhead. Toki followed her to the room her and her son shared when they were staying at Mordhaus and helped her get him to bed. He pulled down the covers and pulled the boy's shoes off, and the mother placed him carefully in the bed and pulled the blankets over him. Then the adults tiptoed out of the room and shut the door. "Thanks, Toki," Tara spoke at last.
"You's welcomes," answered Toki. "Wowee he tireds himskelf out. Hassing the kids is a lots of work, huh?"
"Yeah, sometimes. It's worth it though."
"Vasher is lots of fun. When he nots throwing the tantrums," Toki added, following Tara to the small back kitchen. She was a bit hungry and wanted something to eat, and Toki plodded along after her.
"Uh, Toki…you're acting awfully funny. Something wrong?," wondered the redhead. He was acting like a puppy, she thought.
"Noes," he said brightly, watching her remove some sandwich makings from the refrigerator. "I just boreds and lonelies. Ands I likes you."
"Ok. Well, I like you, too," she said, spreading mayonnaise on a slice of bread. She could feel his eyes on her though, and it was making her back warm. She turned and he was smiling at her.
"I reallies reallies likes you," he added, still smiling goofily at her.
Her dubious expression gave way to one of realization. "Oh. No, now wait a minnit. You can't be serious."
"What? You nots wis Nathans for years now. We nevers gets the laydees arounds here what likes you ams, nots groupies or Kloksateers or skanks. You smarts, and funnies, ands beautifuls…"
"I can't believe this," she muttered, going back to fixing her sandwich.
"You don't likes me?," he said, in a heartbreakingly innocent and distraught voice.
"Of course I like you, Toki!," she answered, exasperated. "But not to date, not like that. I like all of you, even Ofdensen. I couldn't see you anyway, my job keeps me busy, and it would just be awkward with Nathan--"
"Buts he don'ts care," insisted Toki. "He sees he son when he feels likes it, does what he feels like doings, ands I the one what helps wis Vasher just then. I goods wis him, you knows it! Nathans ams too stupiks to see what in fronts of he face! He gives you ups ands ignores you until hims boreds, ands acts like the dicks when you's here! He—,"
Just then a low-pitched growl was the only warning before former high school football player Nathan Explosion lunged at the guitarist. He'd heard the last bit of Toki's tirade and completely lost it, and was currently banging the Norwegian's head on the tiled floor. Toki was much smaller but stronger than he looked, and twisted in Nathan's grip, finally clipping Nathan's cheek with his fist. "Nathan! Oh God, stop!," screamed Tara, unsure of how to break them up. "Fucking stop that!"
"Gets off of me..stupiks dumbsdick," grunted Toki, who got his head slammed against the floor again. In desperation he grabbed a handful of ebony hair and yanked down and to the side, smashing the singer's face against the floor. Crimson was beginning to spatter the clean kitchen floor, and in fear Tara ran to the intercom on the wall and called for security to the back kitchen. When she ran back she found two bloody, panting musicians laying side by side on the floor.
"You Norwegian son of a bitch," gasped Nathan. "Don't you EVER act like I don't love my son. I do, you bastard. And his mother. I'll always love them."
Tara just stood there, mouth agape.
Kinnamara slowly regained consciousness, and it was a painful process. She heard voices around her, speaking softly and urgently, and recognized Mehetse's voice, along with her mother's. Was she back at home? Carefully she stirred, noting her hip felt like it was on fire and her upper arm throbbed, and opened her eyes. "Kinnamara!," cried Tinnemanga happily. "How are you feeling, child?"
"Sore and tired," she answered ruefully. "I thought I was dead."
"You almost were," the older woman said irritably. "Foolish Yunmuri didn't leave enough warriors to guard the village. I travelled here as fast as I could when I got word what happened." The elder shaman had treated and bandaged her daughter's wounds, and poured healing tea down her throat.
"Did we defeat the Kameinya?," the young woman asked. Her mother nodded her head.
"Tonight we eat our foes, obliterating them and taking their strength for our own," she said with satisfaction. After what she'd just went through, Kinnamara couldn't wait.
The few captives still alive were brought before the grand bonfire, and pushed to their knees. Stoically they accepted their fate; the tribes were taught never to give in, but to accept what cannot be changed. They had lost, and their lives were forfeit. It was the way of things, and had been for millennia. They were ritually killed by a single, deep slash to the throat, and their bodies fell forward in a pool of scarlet, lifeless. Then the fallen foes were systematically butchered by the women, who chopped off the heads to be used as trophies, then chopped off arms and legs, splitting open the torso and removing the soft organs. Only the pregnant women ate the liver, the rest of the organs were discarded. Everything else was thrown on the fire to roast, and the pungent smell permeated the whole encampment as the victims were cooked.
Moving very painfully, Kinnamara came forward to receive the Honored share, for her defense of the people. This was usually reserved for renowned hunters and warriors, but she'd earned this reward with her valiant efforts and good luck in repelling their enemies. She was given a roasted chunk of human meat on a wooden platter, and everyone watched as she sank her teeth into it, tearing off a bite-sized portion and chewing with gusto. She swallowed, and murmurs of approval rippled through the onlookers, and the rest of the folk were then served.
The chieftainess' son Muniga had earned much distinction as well, and received a choice portion of the meat. Mehetse had been brave, coming back with only minor wounds, and the casualties all around weren't as bad as what was expected. All in all, a successful endeavor, and many blessings and gifts were bestowed upon the Shamans and the Yannemango tribe from the grateful Yunmuri.
Days later finds a healing Kinnamara back with her own tribe, cradling her baby against her good side with her good arm, while she watched the village go about their daily business. She'd come so close to death, but both related tribes had had victory, their enemies were destroyed and nothing else had happened. Maybe the visions were wrong, she thought to herself. Maybe she overreacted and made it out to be more than what it was. It could be just a warning about the wounding she'd received, she reasoned. She snuggled Berabha close, staringly lovingly at the infant with his bronze skin and pale eyes. She'd missed him while she was away and he'd missed her as well, for Ara who'd kept him while she and her mother were away said he fussed night and day, only stopping to sleep and eat. Now he was one happy, contented baby.
